


Caretakers and Missed Opportunities

by seaavery1



Series: Dean in Therapy [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Caretaker Dean, Childhood Memories, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Emergency room, Gen, Implied drunk driving, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Sex, One Night Stand, Possible Anxiety Disorder, Possible unprotected sex, References to Illness, Self-Worth Issues, be safe, brief mentions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:43:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaavery1/pseuds/seaavery1
Summary: Dean starts to confront his childhood and his role as Sam's caretaker.





	1. Chickenpox

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I want to thank Freyagirl for all the wonderful feedback and suggestions for upcoming sessions. And I hope you like where I am taking this part. Originally this was going to be a long chapter that mainly just dealt with Dean telling Sam about all the ways he took care of him as a child and really letting him know what that entailed. But the second I started writing it I knew that that would take a lot longer than a chapter. So, not sure how many chapters this part will have and it will probably touch on more than just that. I will add additional tags as I go along. 
> 
> Again, thank you for taking the time to read this and I welcome all feedback. You can also find me on Twitter @erinleemarlow.

It had been a month since Dean’s last session. Sam and Dean had been stuck on a case that went bad. Real bad. Sam had been struck with some spell that a witch had cursed him with. Something that gave him the worst stomach flu you could imagine times one hundred. It had gotten so bad that Sam had been rushed to the hospital with severe dehydration and a fever of one hundred and five. Dean had kept vigil by his hospital bed. He had called to Cas, but there was something in this spell that even he couldn’t crack.

 

After the second day in the hospital, Cas got word to Dean that he had tracked down the witch that had done this. Dean asked Cas to stay by Sam’s bedside while he hunted the mother fucker down. After a broken finger, two cracked ribs and an ugly shiner; Dean was able to destroy the witch and reverse the spell. One day later Sam was released from the hospital. 

 

Sam was still feeling a little under the weather and the doctor had insisted on at least a week of bed rest. It was during this week that Dean’s scheduled therapy session came and went. He had called Laura’s office, apologizing and saying an emergency had come up. He rescheduled for two weeks later and went about making sure Sam adhered to that bed rest. 

 

Dean now sat on that familiar couch, hands clutched in his lap and watching Laura get out her trusty tools of the trade. She clicked her pen and smiled at Dean. “How have you been, Dean?”

 

He licked his lips. “Fine. Sorry again for canceling.”

 

“It’s okay.” She crossed her legs. “Can I ask what the emergency was?”

 

Dean bit his lip and, as always, chose his words carefully. “Sammy was...ill. Really ill. He was even in the hospital for a few days.”

 

Her eyes took on a sheen of genuine concern and Dean still didn’t know whether or not she actually meant those looks or she was the best damn actress around. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is he okay now?”

 

“Yeah, he’s fine. He was on strict bed rest for awhile.”

 

She got this odd look on her face that Dean had no idea how to interpret. “Was he on bed rest when you canceled?”

 

Dean had no idea why that matter. “Yeah, why?”

 

“How old is Sam?”

 

Again, another question that Dean didn’t understand the relevance of. “Um...thirty-three.”

 

“Thirty-three” She looked at him like he should have some fucking clue what to say. He had no idea.

 

He shrugged. “Yeah, why? You wanna date him or something.” He just wished she would get to the point. 

 

She let out a soft chuckle and shook her head. “Did the doctor tell you that you had to take care of him twenty-four seven during this bed rest?”

 

“No, but Sammy is so stubborn and I knew that if I didn’t stay with him he would do something crazy.”

 

“Like get out of bed?” 

 

Jesus. “Yes, like get out of bed. Or something else okay.”

 

She studied Dean for a second and then leaned forward. “Our sessions are an hour long, right?” Dean nodded. “Okay and about how long does it take you to get from here to your home, round trip?”

 

He let out a sigh. “A little over a half an hour.”

 

“So, in total it’s just a little under two hours time.”

 

Dean was getting frustrated. “Look, are we going to spend the whole hour talking about how long it takes me to get places. Because I got to say that seems like a hell of a waste of my money.”

 

She smiled. “Dean. Two hours of your time. Two.” He rolled his eyes. “Two hours of time that you couldn’t spare.”

 

“Okay. I see. You’re pissed that you missed out on the money.” He crossed his arms. 

 

“Two hours that you couldn’t spare for yourself, Dean.”

 

“What?”

 

“Realistically, what is the worst thing that would’ve happened if you took those two hours to come here?”

 

Dean never wanted to hear the words two hours again. “I don’t know, but he had been really sick and he could’ve gotten ill. Fell or…” Dean didn’t want to finish that sentence. 

 

“Okay.” She cocked her head to one side. “Why didn’t you call Cas then? Ask him to maybe watch your brother for a couple of hours.”

 

“I think Cas has better things to do than babysit Sammy.” Dean realized all too late how utterly ridiculous that sounded. 

 

“Your brother is thirty-three years old, Dean. Thirty-three.”

 

“God, what is it with you and numbers today.”

 

“Why does he need you to babysit him?”

 

“He doesn’t, okay. I didn’t-” Dean sighed. “It’s just Sammy is stubborn and I’m the only one who could make sure he didn’t get out of the damn bed.” 

 

“You’re not his father or his mother. You’re his brother.”

 

_ Same thing _ , Dean thought. “So, what’s your point?”

 

“Therapy, Dean. Therapy is the way you get better and you put that aside to essentially babysit your brother.”

 

“He needed me, okay.”

 

She took a deep breath, opened her notebook briefly and then looked at him. “Were you ever sick as a child?”

 

Now that was out of left field. “What? Yeah, of course.”   
  


“Okay, can you tell me about a time you were sick as a child. A time after your mother died.”

 

“I don’t...what the hell does this have to do with anything?”

 

“I just want to know. Was there ever a time you were sick as a child, after your mother’s death?”

 

Dean crossed his arms. He really didn’t understand the point of this, but he decided to humor her. “I was twelve.”

 

“And?”

 

“And I got the chickenpox.”

 

“Okay. Tell me about that.”

 

“You wanna know about my chickenpox?”

 

“Tell me who took care of you.”

 

Dean got a pit in his stomach. He didn’t like where this was going. “No one.”

 

“No one?”

 

Dean nodded. “My dad had a...a business trip and I had to watch Sammy.” He shifted in his seat. 

 

“You didn’t call your dad?”

 

Dean scoffed. “No way.”

 

“Why not? You were sick.”

 

“It was just the chickenpox.”

 

“You were twelve years old, Dean. Twelve. You couldn’t drive.” Dean stifled a laugh. “You can’t vote or legally drink. You weren’t an adult.”

 

“Well, I survived so I don’t see what the big deal is.”

 

“Did anyone take care of you during that time? Did anyone make sure you didn’t scratch or that you were getting bed rest?”

 

“No one had to, okay.” Dean looked down at his hands. “I found a way to get the medicine I needed and I put that cream on and I still made sure Sammy had dinner.” Dean held up his hands. “And look, I survived.” 

 

“I had the chickenpox when I was thirteen.” Dean looked at her, confusion on his face. 

 

“Are we tradin' war stories now?”

 

She ignored him. “I was in bed for almost a week.”

 

Dean rubbed his hands in his legs. “Well, that sucks for you.”

 

“I can’t imagine having to take care of either of my siblings during that time.” Dean looked away, his arms crossed so tightly he could feel tiny bruises forming. “But then again I didn’t have to be a parent.”

 

Dean looked back at her, his lips pressed tightly together. “Neither did I.”

 

She stared at him for what seemed like forever. When she finally spoke, Dean braced himself. “Did Sam ever get the chickenpox?”

 

Dean let out a breath. “Yeah. About a week later.” 

 

“And who took care of Sammy?”

 

Dean knew where this was going and he contemplated making a run for it. But he sat there, not wanting to give Laura the satisfaction of knowing she was getting to him. He cleared his throat. “My dad did until he got called away again. And then...and then I did.” Dean felt his heart sinking and his eyes were hot. He wondered if there would ever be a time he wouldn’t feel like falling apart in here. 

 

“Dean, you shouldn’t have had to do that.”

 

He swallowed. Trying to tamp down whatever stupid emotion was trying to rise to the surface. “Look, not everyone has the apple pie life like you had. There are things in this world, dark things, that you can’t even fathom.” He could feel the heat rising and felt his fists clenched at his sides. “And the fucking chickenpox isn’t a priority.” 

 

“But it was for Sam.”

 

“What? That’s not-” He sat forward. “Sammy was just a kid and he-” Dean shook his head and sat back.

 

“Dean, you were a kid too.” He looked away, his eyes blinking. “I understand that your mother died when you were very young and in a horrific way. And I understand that your dad probably never processed that. He ran from it and he took his kids with him. And he relied on  _ you _ to fill that caregiver role that your mother had.” 

 

Dean glared at her. “Bullshit.”

 

She held up a hand, “I’m not saying your dad did it on purpose. I’m sure he did the best he could.”

 

“My dad was a hero, okay. He fought in wars and he...he saved people.” Dean looked down at his hands. “More people than you could ever save with this therapy crap.”

 

Laura leaned forward. “Dean, you took care of Sam when he got sick. You made sure he ate and that he got to school.” She leaned even further forward in her chair. “Dean, you were Sam’s caretaker. You. Not your dad.”

 

Dean felt his chin shaking. “That was my job.”

 

“No it wasn’t.”

 

Dean looked away. “The life we lead. I...I couldn’t let anything happen to him. It’s my duty as his brother”

 

“Thirty-three years, Dean. You’ve been taking care of Sam for thirty-three years.” He shrugged. “Don’t you think it’s time you got a break?”

 

“You’re saying I should abandon my brother.”

 

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.”

 

“Because I won’t do that.”

 

“And I’m not saying you should.” She gave him a sad smile. “I’m saying that you should let him take care of himself. You need to let him be an adult.”

 

“What? I let him be an adult.”

 

“You couldn’t even leave him alone for two hours.”

 

“He was fucking sick, okay! He had been in the hospital and I couldn’t just-” Dean stood. “You know what, this is all fucking bullshit. I gave it all I could, but I’m done with this.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“You sit there judging me!” he gestured to the notebook in her lap. “Taking notes about me and my family. Living in your little bubble in this ugly office! You have no idea. None. The world is a dark and bruising place and I don’t have time to just-” Dean threw his hand up in the air. He felt the words in his throat, but he couldn’t say them. He didn’t know how. He just stood there, anger filling every inch of him. And just below that a sense of grief he couldn’t quite grasp. 

 

After a few more seconds, Laura spoke. “You don’t have time to take care of yourself.”

 

Dean started blinking and he felt his hands shaking. He took a step back, the back of his knees hitting the couch. “Dean, coming here, that’s taking care of yourself. And when you don’t that’s not. And I know that your brother was ill and yeah, he may have needed you there, but my guess is that he could’ve made it those two hours without you.”

 

He slowly sat down. “Sam wanted me to come.” He pressed his hands together. “He told me I was being ridiculous and that I was driving him crazy. “ Dean shook his head. “But you see, I don’t know who I am if I’m not taking care of him.” He let out a shaky breath. Somehow the words kept coming, no matter how badly he wanted them to stop. “You know, when Sam was in college I used to contact his professors.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, I would pretend-” Dean let out a sad chuckle. “I pretended to be his dad. I would just check to make sure he was going to class and that he was okay. Hell, I even had some of my hunting buddies drive up there sometimes to see how he was doing. You know, make sure he wasn’t getting into trouble.”

 

“Does Sam know that you did that?”

 

“Hell no.”

 

“Maybe you should tell him.”

 

“Why? So he can tell me how ridiculous that was.”

 

“So he can know how much you did for him.”

 

“He already does.” 

 

“Maybe. Maybe not.” She leaned back. “Would you ever want to do another group session with him?”

 

“I-” Dean shook his head. “We talk now.” It was true that they had during the first month or so after that one group session. But since then they had fallen back into their old ways. 

 

“That’s great, but I just thought it might be a way for you and Sam to really talk about this stuff.”

 

“Me taking care of him?”

 

“That and your childhood.”

 

“I don’t know.”   
  


“You could even write him a letter.”

 

He knitted his brow. “A letter? But I thought that was just for the dead.”

 

“The letters can be for everyone.”

 

“I don’t know, that’s kind of cheesy.”

 

“Maybe. But just think about it. You can read it in here, with Sam.”

 

Dean felt a knot in his stomach. He licked his lips. “Maybe.” 

 

“Just think about it.”

 

Dean gave her a quick smile. There was no fucking way he was doing that.

 

* * *

Dean was sitting in the kitchen, picking at a turkey sandwich. His mind was still on his last therapy session and he wished he could just scrub it clean. What was the point in talking about the past anyway? It was over and done with. So many things had been lost since then and it was a pretty sure bet that more would be lost in the years to come.

 

He took a pull from his beer and shut his eyes. The cool liquid slid down his throat and filled his belly with an odd heat. This was the first beer he had had in a few weeks and he wanted to cherish it. The way it made him forget what he didn’t want to remember. The way it covered his insides with a thin shield. He held the bottle up to his nose and inhaled. The mixture of barley and alcohol making him feel light headed. He didn’t care that he shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. That he was supposed to be taking it easy on the stuff. He was allowed this. He  _ deserved _ this. 

 

He took another pull. Holding the beer in his mouth for a second before swallowing. He felt a droplet escape his mouth and collect on his bottom lip. He licked his lips clean and let out a sigh. 

 

Dean finished off the beer and a couple more bites of his sandwich. He dropped the beer bottle in the trash and washed the plate clean. 

 

Dean walked toward the library. It was oddly quiet in the bunker. Cas had heard of some possible angel activity in a nearby town and he had gone to investigate. Dean had offered to help, but Cas had insisted that it was better if he went alone. Dean relented and made Cas promise to check in with them often. He had agreed, sending emoji filled texts to ensure that he was okay. 

 

Sam had gone to sleep early, still not entirely a hundred percent yet. Dean looked around the library, studying all the little nooks and crannies. He ran a finger over a row of books, not really seeing the titles. It was an amazing thing really, how comforting this bunker had become. How familiar. It filled Dean with a fear he couldn’t quite place a finger on. 

 

He pulled a book from the shelf, something about the history of werewolf lore, and took a seat. He flipped through the pages, not even sure why he was reading it. He just knew that it was something real. Something familiar. Research. Evil. Monsters. Not the fragments of his childhood that were knocking around in his brain. 

 

After about an hour of perusing the pages of the old book, he could feel his eyes getting heavy. Dean returned the book to it’s place on the shelf and headed to bed. 

 

He paused briefly in front of Sam’s door and without even thinking about it he put his ear up to the door. He could hear the soft snores and he felt this relief that made him happy and annoyed all at once. 

 

Dean opened his bedroom door and looked around. Everything was in it’s right place. It had this familiar smell to it. Kind of musty, but not offending. The bed was neatly made, but there was still a bit of a head shaped imprint on his pillow. This was home. 

 

He sighed and shut the bedroom door. 

 

* * *

 

 

He woke to the smell of coffee. Dean slowly opened his eyes and yawned. He glanced at the clock; eight-thirty. It was the latest he had slept in weeks. Dean rubbed his eyes and slowly got out of bed. 

 

Sam was in the kitchen, sipping some coffee and reading one of the only papers that still seemed to be in print. Dean entered, wordlessly and poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat across from Sam, taking a sip. 

 

Sam turned the page of the paper. “Morning.”

 

“Morning.” Dean wrapped his hands around the coffee mug and sat back. “Anything in the paper?”

 

“Nothing of interest.”

 

Sam set the paper down and got up to get a refill. Dean watched him. “Hey Sam.”

 

“Hm?”

 

Dean looked down into his coffee cup and tried to stop himself from asking. “Um...do you remember that time in Wichita? You were around eight and dad had to go off to hunt some shapeshifter.”

 

Sam knitted his eyebrows. “I think so.” He looked up for a second. “We were staying at that seventies themes motel, right?”

  
  


Dean nodded. “Yeah and you had chickenpox and-”

 

Sam let out a small laugh. “Oh yeah! Man were you pissed.” He took a sip of coffee.

 

“No I wasn’t.”

 

Sam looked at him and let out a laugh. “Yeah you were. You were supposed to go to some party you had heard about.” Sam looked away. “You kept muttering something about ‘girls being there’ and ‘spin the bottle’.”

 

Dean chewed on his bottom lip. “I don’t remember that.”

 

Sam took another drink. “You were convinced that you were going to finally get to kiss a girl.” 

 

“Hey, I had kissed a girl before then.”

 

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

 

“Well, whatever, it wasn’t like you did any better.”

 

“I was eight.”

 

“Whatever.” Dean took a sip of coffee. 

 

“Man though, that really sucked.” He nodded. “In fact, I think I still have a scar from scratching so hard.”

 

“Well, you wouldn’t if you had stopped scratching like I told you to.”

 

“Hey man, it itched like a son of a bitch.” He crossed his feet. “Just thank your lucky stars you never got it.” He held his drink up and then took a sip.

 

Dean blinked and looked at him. “What?” 

 

“I mean I still don’t know how. That motel room was little more than two beds and four walls.” 

 

Dean felt a tightening in his chest. He wanted to correct him, but he couldn’t find the words. He cleared his throat. “Guess I’m just lucky.” He stared down into the mug wishing it was spiked with whiskey.

 

* * *

 

Dean had tried to cancel his therapy appointment. He wanted to call Laura and tell her she could take this therapy shit and shove it up her ass. But he didn’t. He kept the appointment. 

 

He was sitting on that old couch, tapping his foot on the floor, and glaring at Laura. She was busy looking at her notebook and finishing up her normal check in.  

 

She looked up and gave Dean a quick smile. “How are you, Dean?” 

 

He rolled his eyes. “Just peachy.”

 

She looked at his foot and then back at his face. He could have sworn he saw a look of annoyance cross her face, but she quickly composed herself. “Are you angry about something, Dean?”

 

He pointed at his chest. “Me? Why in the world would you think I’d be angry?” She opened her mouth to speak, but Dean kept going. “I mean it’s not like you give a shit.”

 

“Dean-”

 

He held up his hand and stopped tapping his foot. “Seriously, do you like get off on this?”

 

“Excuse me?” 

 

“You know, dragging up people’s past and making them relieve it. Is it fun for you?” He shook his head. “Because from where I’m sitting it sure as hell seems like it.”

 

She set the notebook aside. “Dean, my job is to help you heal and sometimes that involves dealing with some unpleasant things.”

 

He snorted. “Unpleasant things?” He crossed his arms. “You know most weeks I leave here feeling-” He ran his hand over his mouth. “Feeling like shit.”

 

“It can be painful to-”

 

“I know my life hasn’t been a bed of roses, but I-” Dean felt the heat behind his eyes. The prickling sensation of tears wanting to fall. He wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction. He pursed his lips and sat up taller. “I’ve helped people. Hell, I’ve fucking saved people.” She just watched him. “So, excuse me if I don’t want to drag up some bullshit about not being taken care of when I was a kid.” He leaned back and looked away. 

 

She took a breath and leaned forward. “Dean, it’s okay to be angry with me. What you’re doing here isn’t easy.” He glanced over at her. “But when you came here you were near the end. Whether you know that or not. You were very close to being suicidal. And since then you’ve made your peace with some things. You have grown.”

 

He swallowed and looked down at his lap. “Yeah, well it doesn’t feel like that.”

 

“You’ve had a lifetime of losses. It’s going to take a lot of work to recover from that.”

 

Dean looked toward the window wishing he could fly. “Sam doesn’t remember.”

 

“Remember what?”

 

He looked back at her. “Me having chickenpox.” Dean shook his head. “He remembered me taking care of him and some party that I was supposed to go to, but nothing about me being the one to have them first.”

 

“How did that make you feel?”

 

Dean picked off a piece of lint on his jeans. “Like crap.”

 

“Did you tell him that?”

 

Dean scoffed. “No. I mean he was eight.”

 

She studied his face for a moment and he silently prayed she would drop it. “And this party that you were supposed to go to.”

 

“Yeah, I didn’t even remember that part at first.” He glanced down at his boots. There was a tiny drop of dried blood near his big toe and he wondered whose it was. “But then I did. It was some kid that I met at school. It was going to be his thirteenth birthday party.”

 

“And you wanted to go.”   
  


“It was going to be the first boy girl party I had been to.”

 

“How does that make you feel?”

 

He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He swallowed. “I wish I hadn’t gotten mad at Sam back then.”

 

She knitted her brow. “Why do you say that?”

 

“Because it wasn’t his fault that I couldn’t go.”   
  


“No. But it’s perfectly understandable why you would get mad at him.”

 

“Look, it was just some stupid party.”

 

“But it was your first.”

 

Dean closed his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath and opened them. “You know when my dad got back he brought Sammy and I a present.” He pursed his lips. “He got Sam this lego set.” Dean laughed. “Man Sammy loved legos.”

 

“And what did he get you?”

 

Dean shifted in the seat. “A hunting knife.”

 

A look of shock briefly crossed her face. “Why a knife?”

 

“Because, he wanted me to have more protection.”  _ Something other than a gun. _ He looked down at his lap.

 

“What would you have wanted?”

 

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean the knife was pretty cool.”

 

“I’m sure it was, but if you could’ve had anything what would it have been?”

 

He thought for a minute. “A dirt bike.” Dean’s mouth turned up into a little smile. “There was this awesome S&M one that this kid I’d met had. Man that thing could ride.”

 

“What color would you have wanted.”

 

“Red. Definitely red.” 

 

“Sounds like that would’ve been nice.”   
  


He shook his head, clearing it of that useless dream. “Yeah, well a bike doesn’t always travel well.” He rubbed his hands on his jeans. “The knife was fine.” He looked down. “Just fine.” He looked out the window. The words "just fine" echoing in his head. 

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Whiskey and Red Heads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean starts to feel resentment toward Sam and decides to drown his sorrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I apologize for the delay in posting another chapter. Had some stuff come up, but will be trying to post at least one chapter a week. This chapter was a struggle emotionally at times and I apologize it is muddied in any way. There is implied/talked about sexual content, but nothing graphic at all. Drinking, cursing. Drunk driving (don't drink and drive) and possible unprotected sex (always use protection!) And of course angst. Thank you for reading and for any feedback. It means the world to me.

In the days that followed his last session Dean began to notice a growing feeling of resentment toward Sam. Everything he did seemed to get under Dean’s skin and he was convinced that every look Sam gave him, every word he spoke, was filled with condescension. It wasn’t just Sam’s height that was towering over Dean anymore. 

 

The growing resentment was tinged with an overpowering anger and at times Dean felt like he would explode. Usually he would drown himself in liquor, but he was supposed to be avoiding that sort of thing. So instead he would hide away in his room listening to records and bemoaning his shattered childhood. The bike he never got. The school dance he missed out on. The cap and gown he never wore.  

 

Hunting had become unbearable. With every kill or life he saved he thought about the family dinners he never had. Every drop of blood shed was just a sad reminder of everything he had sacrificed. And the worst part was Sam. Dean felt Sam questioning every decision he made, no matter that all those decisions were simply about making sure that Sam never got hurt again. Dean had hoped that things would get better when Cas finally returned, but instead Dean felt like Cas took Sam’s side in every little decision, including where they would get dinner. Dean had never felt so alone.

 

They were returning to the bunker after a particularly nasty vamp hunt in Virginia. Dean was covered in dirt, dried blood, some his and some from unknown origins, and his body was covered in cuts and bruises. Cas had offered to heal him, but he told him to save his angel mojo for something more important. Cas gave him a look that was laced with so much pity that Dean felt like he was going to throw up.

 

He forced a smile and gave Cas a pat on the back. “I’m going to get cleaned up.” Dean excused himself and headed to the bathroom. 

 

Dean closed the bathroom door, locking it, and proceeded to strip out of his filthy jeans and shirt. He surveyed his body in the mirror. There was a pretty nasty gash on his right side and his arms were slowly turning a nice shade of blue and purple. Maybe he should have had Cas help him, but he couldn’t take the pity that it was sure to be laced with. He leaned forward, studying the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. When had he become old? 

 

He turned on the shower and let the water reach a temperature just below scalding. He stepped under the water, letting it flow over his battered body and winced when it hit his side. The water rinsed away the mud and blood, filling the bottom of the shower with copper tinted water.  He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and let the water fall over his face. 

 

Dean exited the shower when the water finally became luke-warm. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he returned to his room. 

 

Dean threw on a pair of clean jeans and flipped through his records, but nothing caught his attention. He figured he should probably just try and get some sleep. His body was sore and he guessed he hadn’t gotten more than two hours of shut-eye in the past forty-eight hours. But the agitation that filled his veins wasn’t going anywhere. He needed air. He needed to get beyond the four walls of his room. Dean threw on a red shirt, grabbed his jacket and headed out.

 

* * *

 

The neon “Open” sign above the bar flickered and the faint sound of a  _ Journey _ song filtered out onto the street. Dean sat inside the Impala, staring at the building. His hands were shaking and his stomach was doing flip-flops.  _ When did that happen?  _ This place used to be his safe space. Home away from home. “It’s just a bar, Dean. Just a bar.” He took a breath and opened the car door. 

 

The bar was fairly empty. Two guys in their fifties were playing pool with some noticeable skill. A game of pool probably wouldn’t be in the cards tonight. There was a man around Dean’s age at the bar nursing a beer. He looked like he had been wearing the same shirt and jeans for about a month now and his hair was all over the place. Dean decided to take a seat at the other end of the bar.

 

The bartender walked over to Dean. “What’ll it be?”

 

_ Order a beer, Dean. Or better yet stick with coffee _ . Dean cleared his throat, “Whiskey. Neat.”  _ Shit _ . The bartender nodded and walked away. He should stop him. Tell him he made a mistake. He was off the hard stuff and really he just wanted a coffee and maybe some conversation. He should get up and leave.  But Dean just sat there silently waiting for his drink to arrive. 

 

One hour later, four whiskeys in and Dean was feeling more than just a little buzzed. He remembered drinking whole bottles like they were water. He finished off the current glass in front of him and motioned for another one. Might as well make it five. 

 

“Long day.” A woman’s voice said from beside him. Dean turned his head toward the woman now sitting next to him. She had shoulder length red hair, blue eyes and a dusting of freckles on her nose. She wore jeans, a loose fitting t-shirt and a leather jacket. Dean guessed her life had seen better days and so had her make-up. But she was the most beautiful being Dean had seen in days. She smiled at him and Dean wanted to cry. 

 

He smiled. “A long day in a series of long days.”

 

“I hear that.” She held out her hand, “Stephanie.”

 

He shook her hand. “Dean.” 

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Dean.” She took off her jacket, placing it on the back of her chair. 

 

“You too.” He smiled at her and decided that counting drinks didn’t matter anymore. 

 

* * *

 

Dean woke up in a dingy motel room, his head feeling like it had been slammed into a wall. There was an arm draped across his bare chest and he froze, prepared to attack whatever might be next to me, when he remembered. He sighed and glanced over. Stephanie lay on her stomach, her red hair cascading over her face. She was softly snoring. The four drinks from that night before had turned into more than five and he was pretty sure there were other liquors involved. He remembered laughing, but he couldn’t remember at what. Her soft laughter was so sweet it reminded him of honey. There was touching and he thought he could even faintly remember dancing, or stumbling, to some  _ Bob Seger _ song. Then the kissing. Her lips tasted like strawberries. He licked his lips trying to find some remnants of that flavor.

 

He couldn’t remember how they wound up here, but he could faintly recall stumbling out of clothes. Laughing as they fell to the bed. Limbs entangled in a familiar dance. She had traced the gash on his side and peppered kisses on his bruises. He remembered a tear falling and the touch of a hand to his face. She was nice. Tender. The opposite of everything. 

 

Dean studied her lying next to him. Watching her back rise with every breath. He could see the curve of her breast and the freckles that decorated her arms. He wanted to take the time to count them. She had a tiny dragonfly tatoo on her back, just below her right shoulder. Without thinking he reached out and lightly touched it. Her skin was so soft. No scars. He wanted to wake her with a soft kiss. Maybe get to really know her. Spend the day in bed laughing, trading stories, making love. He pulled his hand away.  _ You’re not allowed that, Dean _ . He took a deep breath and  looked over at the alarm clock by the bed; 4:30. Dean knew that if Sam wasn’t already worried, he would be as soon as he noticed Dean wasn’t home. Resentment was starting to creep in again and he knew he had to get out of there. He gently removed Stephanie’s arm and quietly got out of the bed. 

 

When he stood up he instantly felt woozy and he ran to the bathroom. Dean threw up most of the remnants of the previous evening and rinsed out his mouth. He returned to the room and noticed that Stephanie was still sleeping. He tried to ignore the slight disappointment he felt. Dean gathered up his clothes, got dressed and grabbed his car keys. He paused at the doorway and glanced back at her before exiting the room. 

 

The Impala was parked between two spaces and Dean wondered how they got home in one piece. He glanced around him before getting in and heading back to the bunker. 

 

The drive back took longer than expected due to the fact that he had to pull over twice to throw up again. He arrived nearly thirty minutes later and prayed that he could just make it to his room without seeing Sam or Cas. 

 

Dean quietly entered the bunker and listened for a moment. Silence. He let out a breath and headed to his room. He wanted to just crawl into bed and wake up the next day.  He tiptoed down the hallway and silently cursed at every little noise he made. 

 

Dean finally made it to his room without anyone noticing. He climbed into bed and was about to shut out the world for the day when there was a knock on the door. “Dean?” Sam said his name barely above a whisper and Dean briefly wondered if he could just get away with not answering. 

 

He shook his head. “Yeah.”

 

The door remained closed. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yep. Just sleeping.” He knew it was stupid to lie, but he didn’t have the energy to deal with any judgments right now.

 

Sam said nothing for a few moments and Dean prepared himself for whatever onslaught was about to come his way. “Okay. Well, just...let me know if you need anything.” Dean heard Sam’s footsteps retreat into the distance. 

 

Dean should be relieved. No questions. No lecture. But instead he just felt that overwhelming loneliness taking over again. 

 

* * *

 

Dean was sitting on that familiar couch two days later and wondering if him returning to this place made him some sort of masochist. 

 

Laura crossed her legs and smiled. “How have you been?”

 

He plastered on a smile. “Great. Never better.” 

 

She plastered on an almost identical smile. “That’s good.” 

 

“You don’t believe me?”

 

“I never said that”

 

“Because I can be good you know. I’m not always fucked up.”

 

“I know, Dean.” 

 

He rolled his eyes. “Why does everybody talk to me like that?”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like they’re better than me.”

 

“Dean, that wasn’t what I was-”

 

Dean pointed toward her wall. “Just because you have some diplomas.”

 

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

 

He crossed his arms. “Nothing. I just wish you would respect me.”

 

She had a genuine look of confusion on her face. “Why do you think I don’t respect you?”

 

“Oh come on. I’m just another loser schmuck who you get paid to listen to.”

 

She shook her head. “Dean. I promise you that I respect you.”

 

He so badly wanted to believe her. “We’ll see about that.”

 

“What do you-”

 

Without even thinking, Dean blurted out, “I got drunk the other day.”

 

Laura looked at him for a second, sadness in her eyes, and Dean wished that didn’t hurt him so much. “How was it?”

 

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. Freeing.” 

 

“Freeing?”

 

He sat up. “Yeah. No one was judging me or looking at me like I’m just a piece of dirt with a GED and a suitcase worth of belongings.”

 

She uncrossed her legs. “I can see how that would be appealing.”

 

“It’s the only place where I’m not the biggest loser in the room.”

 

“Why do you keep saying you’re a loser?”

 

“I don’t...I mean...nevermind.” He looked away.

 

She was quiet for a moment and he could feel her eyes on him. Finally she spoke. “Dean, why did you get a GED?”

 

He looked at her and furrowed his brow. “Because I didn’t finish high school.”

 

“Not everyone who drops out of high school gets a GED.”

 

“I know.”

 

“So then why did you?”

 

“Look, I had to help my dad with the business and I couldn’t finish school.” 

 

“Did your dad want you to?”

 

“He didn’t even know.” Dean looked down at his hands. 

 

“Dean, getting a GED isn’t a small achievement. You didn’t have to do that and yet you did.”

 

He shrugged. “It’s really not that big a deal.”  _ It’s not like getting into Stanford. _

 

She leaned forward. “Did you like school?”

 

“No. It was a waste of time.”

 

“So, there wasn’t even one subject you liked?”

 

“I don’t know. Shop I guess.” He rubbed his hands together. “And wrestling. I was pretty good at wrestling.”

 

“Were there any classes outside of those that you liked?”

 

He licked his lips and looked at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and then looked at her. “I liked English I guess.”

 

“Yeah? That’s what I would’ve guessed.” He smiled quickly and then glanced away. “Did you have a favorite author?”

 

He leaned back on the couch. “I loved Vonnegut.” He was starting to feel more relaxed. “And I really liked the beat writers, especially Jack Kerouac.” He smiled “There was this creative writing class I took once that I really loved.”

 

“Really? So what did you write?”

 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s really cheesy.”

 

“Cheesy not always a bad thing.”

 

He let out a soft laugh. “I wrote some poetry.” A slight blush was creeping up his neck. He couldn’t believe he was actually sharing this with her. “I know, stupid.”

 

“Not at all. Poetry isn’t easy”

 

“Well, I was no Kerouac”

 

“Still, to even attempt that is brave.” He shrugged. “Do you ever try to write now?”

 

“No way. I mean you’ve heard the letters I write.”

 

“I’ve also had the pleasure of hearing some of the stories you tell.”

 

He shifted in his seat. “That was just talking.”

 

“It was a lot more than that. As I told you, you had me hooked. Not many people can do that.”

 

He smiled and looked down at his hands. “I guess.”

 

“Did you ever show your dad or Sam any of your poetry?”

 

He scoffed. “Yeah right.” He rubbed his hands on his legs. “They’d laugh. Besides, I had to drop out during that class so…” 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

He shook his head trying to forget the disappointment he had felt. Things had been getting too big for his dad to handle on his own and Sam...he could feel a tightening in his chest and that damn resentment creeping in again. He swallowed and crossed his arms. “Look, can we just go back to talking about me getting drunk or something?”

 

She nodded. “Okay.” She looked down at her notebook and then back up. “Did you do anything else at the bar? Play pool or meet anyone?”

 

“There were two guys playing pool, but they were pretty good so I just sat at the bar.”

 

“Did you meet anyone?”

 

He swallowed and felt a bit of shame return. “Yeah.” He licked his lips. “A woman.”

 

“What was her name?”

 

“Stephanie.” 

 

“Can you tell me about her?”

 

He shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. She was nice. I was pretty much drunk by the time she got there.”

 

“What did you guys talk about?”

 

“Music. My car. I don’t really know.” He crossed his arms tightly. “Like I said, I was pretty much drunk and she was on the way there, so…”

 

She looked at him for a moment and then started to write something in her notebook. Dean cleared his throat. “I slept with her.” Why did he have to be so damn honest with her. 

 

She looked up. “How was that?”

 

Dean cocked his eyebrow. “I don’t really-”

 

She held up a hand. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be nosy or asking for details.”

 

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s been awhile and I guess it was nice.” He chewed on his bottom lip. 

 

“Did you take her home with you?”

 

“No. She had a motel room or at least that’s where I woke up.” 

 

“You spent the night then?”

 

“Sort of. I mean yes.” He looked at Laura. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. I’m just some asshole looking for an easy lay or something.”

 

“I never said that.”

 

“I mean I know how shitty it must seem. Just sleeping with someone like that and then leaving without even saying goodbye.”

 

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

 

“Already told you, because I’m an asshole.”

 

“You’re not an asshole.”

 

He wanted to laugh. He rested his foot on his knee. “I don’t know. I just didn’t want to disappoint her.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I’m almost forty.” He leaned forward and started counting off all the reasons. “I live and work with my brother. I’ve never really had a real job. Almost everyone that gets close to me ends up dead. I hang out in dive bars. I eat like crap and all my belongings fit into a suitcase.” He crossed his arms and leaned back on the couch. “I’m not exactly a catch.”

 

“Dean, she probably has her own list she could list for you.” He looked away. “Everyone has a list of things they’re not proud of.”

 

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” He shrugged. “It was just a one night stand.” 

 

“Do you ever want more than that?”

 

“Like I told you before, relationships don’t mix with my life.”

 

“That doesn’t answer my question though. Would you ever want that if there was a way?”

 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and looked at her. “Why do you always have to do that?”

 

“Do what”

 

“Get me to try and wish for things I can never have.”

 

“That’s not what I’m trying to do Dean. I’m just trying to get you to see that you can have that.”

 

He laughed. “No. I can’t.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“Can we please stop talking about this?”

 

She looked at him for a moment and then nodded. “Okay.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You said you felt free while drinking. How did you feel the next day?”

 

“Like shit. I was puking and-”

 

“I mean emotionally.”

 

He ran a hand over his face and chewed on his lip for a moment. “Like shit.”

 

“How did Sam react?”

 

He felt his shoulders tense and felt annoyance creeping into his veins. “We didn’t talk about it.”

 

“But he knew.”

 

He huffed. “He didn’t say, but judging by the look of absolute pity on his face this last week, I would say he knew.” He rubbed his neck. “Frankly, I would’ve prefered he got angry at me.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“Anger I can deal with. This stupid pity thing he does all the time, like he’s better than me, makes me want to scream.”

 

“Have you ever talked to Sam about that?”

 

“I’m trying not to talk to Sam right now.”

 

“Why?”

 

He sighed and crossed his arms. “Because everything he does seems to piss me off and I don’t want to...I don’t want to upset him.” He rolled his eyes. “See, that pisses me off too.”

 

“What about that letter I mentioned?”

 

“I think at this point it would just be a string of curse words.”

 

“That would be fine Dean. Like I said, he doesn’t ever have to see it. I don’t even have to see it.”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

 

“Okay. Have you given any more thought to a group session?”

 

He scoffed. “That would be even worse.”

 

She closed her notebook and leaned forward. The expression on her face was so serious that Dean felt himself sinking back into the couch. “Dean, you’re going to have to deal with this at some point. I know it’s hard and I don’t want to push you. But if you don’t it will just keep building and building until you explode.”

 

He swallowed and started blinking. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

 

“I know, but the more you ignore this the worse it will get.”

 

He felt his lip quivering and he quickly looked away. “Sam is...I can’t lose him.”

 

“Being honest with him doesn’t mean you’ll lose him.”

 

“It’s not his fault that I didn’t get a childhood.”

 

“Of course not. He was a kid too.”

 

Dean pointed at his chest. “Then why do I feel so angry at him?”

 

“Dean, you grew up so fast and you had this huge responsibility laid on your shoulders at a very young age. You had to give up so much and you still feel like you have to. It’s natural to feel resentment.”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

She reached forward and Dean thought for sure that she was going to touch his knee. “I know, Dean. It’s my job to try and help you figure this out. To help you deal with it” She smiled. “Will you let me help you with this?”

 

He should run and never look back. Tell her she needed to leave him and his brother alone. But he simply nodded. “Okay.”

 

She sat back and smiled. “Okay. So, before our next session I’d like you to just try to write him a letter.” Dean’s mouth opened and she held her hand up. “It doesn’t matter if every word is a curse word, this is just for you. You don’t have to give it to him and you don’t have to bring it in.”

 

His heart was pounding in his chest.  _ Run Dean, Run _ . He swallowed. “Okay.”

 

She smiled and opened the notebook back up and Dean tried to steady his breathing.  _ It’s just for you. It’s just for you. _ He could do this or he could just run. He sat there, frozen, and waited to schedule the next session.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always had this idea that if Dean had secret dreams of being a writer. First time I've ever thought about writing it in a story. :) Thanks again for reading.


	3. Just a Little Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean comes clean with Sam and Cas, but not without consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little warning that there is a description of having a panic attack in this chapter, so if that in anyway triggers you just be careful. 
> 
> Thank you as always for reading and I hope you like the direction I am taking this.

_ Just for you. Just for you. _ The words played in a loop in his head as he drove back to the bunker. Maybe Laura was right. Maybe if he did scribble some words on a page everything could go back to normal. Or at least the normal he was used to. He could enjoy hunting again. He could live with Sammy again. Things could go back to the way they were. 

 

He pulled into the bunker’s garage and turned off the car. Staring straight ahead, Dean felt nerves rising inside and turning his stomach into knots. He tried to steady his breathing and remind himself that it was just the bunker. It was just Sam and Cas and home. Home. He took a couple of deep breaths, took the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car. 

 

He walked through the bunker, preparing himself for whatever questions Sam and cas would have.  _ Was your session good? Did you schedule a next one? Are you okay? Did you talk about what a drunk loser you are?  _ Dean shook his head. He made it through the various rooms. Empty. As he headed toward the kitchen he heard Sam and Cas talking. He stood up straighter, plastered on a smile and made his way to the kitchen.  

 

As Dean turned the corner he spotted Cas and Sam leaning up against the counter. Their backs were to him, shoulders hunched. Sam was speaking to Cas. “He’s slipping again and I think we should be prepared for-”

 

Dean walked into the kitchen. “Who’s slippin’?” He walked over to the fridge

 

Cas and Sam jumped and turned around. They looked like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. “Dean.” Sam stuttered and ran his hand through his hair. “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

 

Cas smoothed his tie. “Hello, Dean”

Dean opened the fridge and noted that the beer that had previously been there was now gone. He shook his head, took out a container of milk, and looked back at Sam and Cas. “So, who’s slipping?”

 

Cas and Sam exchanged nervous glances. Dean poured a glass of milk and Sam cleared his throat. “How was therapy?”

 

Avoidance was how they were going to play this. Dean sat down at the kitchen table. “It was fine.” He took a sip and set the glass down. He watched them for a moment. Sam was shifting his weight from foot to foot and Cas kept glancing at him like he would have the solution to everything. After a minute, Dean set his hands on the table and gave them a little nod. “So, are you guys gonna make me guess?” Cas and Sam genuinely looked confused and Dean felt a headache coming on. “Someone’s slipping?”

 

They shook their heads and looked at each other, probably trying to figure out the best way to do some kind of intervention. Sam crossed his arms and tried to look confident. “Um...Crowley. Yeah, Crowley you know he’s...well...I...you know him and human blood.” Sam shrugged like that jumbled mess of an answer cleared everything up. 

 

Dean glanced at Cas, surely the angel wouldn’t go along with this. Cas looked down and then glanced at Sam and received a pleading look. Cas looked back at Dean. “Yeah, Crowley may be taking blood again.”

 

Dean looked between them for a minute and then laughed.  “Man, were we always this bad at lying?” Sam raised his eyebrows and Cas got that confused look on his face. “Or have we just gotten so used to lying to each other that we don’t even try anymore?” 

 

Sam shook his head. “Dean, we aren’t-”

 

Dean crossed his arms. “Why don’t you guys just ask me?” 

 

Cas blinked. “Ask you what, Dean?”

 

“About the other night? Where I was? What I was doing?”

 

Sam took a step forward. “We don’t have to talk about-”

 

Dean rubbed his neck. “Aren’t you guys tired of this shit? Because I sure as hell am.” He took a deep breath and stood up. “I got drunk. Just fucking wasted.” Sam looked down and Cas gave him that pity look again. “Woke up with the worst hangover ever. Threw up more times than I can remember.” Sam looked up, his eyes filled with the same pity as Cas’, but there was something else there. Disappointment. Fear. Dean looked away and crossed his arms. “I did get laid though. A nice red head with the sexiest tattoo.” He let out a humorless laugh. “Of course I don’t really remember the sex, just little pictures in my head.” He looked back at Sam and Cas, the pity had multiplied and the disappointment on both their faces was unmistakable. He wanted to crawl away or at least erase the last couple of years of his pathetic life.

 

Dean shook his head. “So, you wanna tell me again who you thinks slipping?” He picked up the glass of milk and downed what remained. 

 

Sam cleared his throat, “Um...Dean, we know that you’ve been working hard and that it must be exhausting.” Dean scoffed. “And everyone is allowed a slip-up. We’re just worried.”

 

“Then why didn’t you just ask me what happened?”

 

“I don’t-” He fiddled with his shirt. “I didn’t know what to say.” It was the most honest thing Sam had said in days. 

 

Dean sat back down. “Look, I know that a lot of what I did when I had the mark was unforgivable. It’s something that haunts me every minute of every day.” He touched his right arm as if expecting to feel that familiar burn the mark always seemed to leave. “But it’s gone now. I’m not that person. And I won’t ever let myself be that person again.”

 

Cas knitted his brow. “But you don’t know what might happen if you even tempt it, Dean.”

 

Dean rolled up his sleeve and pointed to his arm. “There is  _ nothing _ there! It’s gone okay and whatever helped to fuel it is gone. Drinking isn’t going to turn my eyes black or make me-” Dean shook his head. “It doesn’t have power anymore.”

 

Sam stood up taller and shook his head. “That’s all well and good, Dean, but you still went out and got plastered.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And I can’t just pretend that that’s okay.”

 

“I know.”

 

Sam crossed his arms. “Okay. Good. Now, what are we going to do about it?” 

 

Dean felt like he had missed a step somewhere. “What?”

 

“To make sure you don’t do this again.”

 

“Well, I won’t.”

 

“That’s what you said last time.”   
  


Dean felt an annoyance creeping under his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch. “I know. But trust me, that hangover has me swearing off whiskey for at least the next five years.” Sam didn’t look convinced and Dean wasn’t sure he believed himself either. Dean gestured toward the fridge. “Besides, you got rid of all the beer and alcohol in the place. I really have no choice.”

 

Sam nodded. “There’s always bars.”

 

He felt like a teenager about to be grounded. He ran his hand down his face. “Look, I’ll make sure to go to therapy at least every other week. No more stretching it out.” 

 

“And you’ll tell us where you’re going at all times.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Sam ignored him. “And you’ll make sure to be back at the bunker before nightfall, unless we are out on a case.”

 

Unbelievable. “You’re giving me a curfew? Seriously?”

 

“You know what, maybe we should just take the car keys and we can drive you wherever-”

 

Dean jumped up, nearly knocking the chair over. “Are you fucking kidding me!?”

 

Sam didn’t even flinch. He just shrugged. “You want us to trust you.”

 

“Do you know what it’s like to go to therapy all the time? It’s painful and most of the times I want to quit. But I still go.” He gestured to Sam and Cas. “And I do that for you guys.”

 

Sam scowled. “You also promised us you’d stop getting wasted.”

 

Dean stared at Sam for a moment and then glanced at Cas. They didn’t trust him and they probably never had. He guessed it was he deserved. He  _ knew _ it was what he deserved. It still hurt like hell. He quickly looked away . “You know, this is the first time I have gotten drunk in weeks. Hell, months.”

 

“Dean, we know, but-”

 

Dean looked at them, his expression hard and angry.  “And you wanna know why?” He leaned against the table. “Because of you two.”

 

Cas looked crestfallen and Sam looked like he wanted to punch the wall. “You’re seriously blaming Cas and I for-.” Sam leaned up against the counter. “That’s seriously messed up.”

 

Dean’s stomach was in knots and he felt his hands shaking. He didn’t mean to say it. He didn’t want to say it. It was too late now. Might as well go for the whole enchilada. “Come on, you don’t give a crap about the fact that I got drunk. No, you’re just pissed that you might have to take of yourselves for a change.”

 

Cas took a step toward Dean. “Dean, that’s not what-”  

 

Sam held his hand up. “You have a lot of nerve saying that to us. We’ve been cleaning your messes up for quite awhile now and you fucking know it.”

 

“My messes?” He let out a humorless laugh and felt the anger rising. He took a deep breath, trying to tamp it down, and gave them the fakest smile he could muster. “Fine. You’re right, Sammy. You and Cas are just perfect little saints who always come to my stupid rescue. Yep. I’ve never ever done anything for your guys. You’re so right.” 

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Stop it Dean.”

 

He threw his hands up in the air. “You’re so right. You guys should run my life for me and from now on I’ll run all my decisions by you. You want me to check in and out of the bunker? Fine. You want me to have a curfew like a fifteen year old? Fine.” He glared at them. “But there is no way I’m letting you guys drive me around like I’m a child.” He pushed himself off the table. “Now, I’m going to go to my room. Maybe listen to some records. Hell, maybe I’ll even watch some porn.” He glanced at his wrist. “And I’ll be doing that till around twelve hundred and go fuck yourselves hours.” He stormed out.

 

* * *

 

Dean slammed his door and started pacing. His heart was beating so fast that he was genuinely concerned that it may burst. He stopped and looked down at his hands. They were shaking almost as fast his heart was beating. He swallowed and sank down to the bed.

 

_ I need to just calm down. Just steady my breathing. Everything will be okay. _ He took in a couple of deep breaths, but his heart was still pounding and his throat felt like it was being sewed shut.  _ Just relax, Dean. You’re fine. _ He laid back on the bed, putting a hand over his chest. He swore his hands were bouncing off his chest in time with his rapidly increasing heart beat.  _ I’m dying.  _ Fear started creeping in and his chest began to hurt. He tried to call for Sam or Cas, but nothing came out. His hands were turning clammy and beads of sweat dotted his brow. 

 

He tried to stand. Tried to make it out of the room. But his legs felt like jello and the pain in his chest grew worse. He sat back on the bed, clutching his chest. He felt like the room was spinning. He tried again to speak. To yell. All he managed was a choked out, “Cas.” 

 

He fell back on the bed and felt the beads of sweat sliding down his face. He barely registered his door flying open or Cas and Sam rushing to his side. They were talking to him, but everything sounded muddled.  _ I’m dying. I’m dying. _ He wasn’t even sure if he said it out loud. 

 

He saw glimpses of Sam and Cas talking to each other in urgent voices and Cas was looking him over. He didn’t even have the strength or will to fight him off. 

 

Next thing he new they were in the car, Sam driving and Cas in the back seat with Dean. “Hospital.” “Heart.” “I don’t know.” Just fragments of conversations. They were driving fast. Too fast. Nausea was getting worse and Dean wanted to tell them to slow down, but nothing came out. 

 

Then suddenly they were stopped and florescent lights filled the car. Cas and Sam stood on either side of him, an arm flung over their shoulders. Hospital. They were at a hospital. Dean licked his lips and managed to choke out, “Am I dying?” Sam and Cas abruptly stopped, looked at each other and then down at him. “No, Dean.” He wasn’t sure who said it. It didn’t matter. 

 

He was rushed through the emergency room doors and Cas and Sam set him down in a chair and looked for help. He tried to focus on a CPR poster on the wall and not the fear that had consumed every inch of him. Every drop of blood that coursed through his body was tainted with it.  _ This is what I deserve. This is what I get for not being what they need. _

 

Cas and Sam came back to his side and said something about a doctor coming soon. Then there was a bed and he was being lifted on to it. Clothing was removed and things were being attached to his chest. A doctor and a nurse were fussing about and asking him questions. “Are you on any medication?” “Drugs?” “What was the last thing you ate?” “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the chest pain?” He tried to answer and wasn’t even sure of the words he said. 

 

They continued to prod him and poke him. Asked more questions. Took some blood. And after a few minutes his heart rate started to steady and his breathing was returning to normal. He had a fleeting thought that maybe this was what it felt like when you really died. Relief of the pain right before the end. 

 

He heard Cas and Sam talking to the doctor. Something about panic and attack. He wasn’t sure. The nurse smiled at him. 

 

Another few minutes passed, and Dean was finally feeling some semblance of normalcy, the doctor asked him to rate his chest pain. He said a two, down from a ten. The doctor explained to him that it wasn’t a heart attack, but a panic attack.  _ Panic attack? _ He explained to him what that meant.  _ Panic attack?  _ Dean just sat there listening. Shame and embarrassment filled him. He was a hunter. He wasn’t supposed to have panic attacks unless he was on a plane. Then they were warranted. The doctor wrote him a prescription for something called  Ativan. And Dean wished it had been a damn heart attack. 

 

Cas and Sam drove him home in relative silence. The look of pity was back and Dean wanted to crawl into a hole. They insisted on actually getting the prescription filled, despite Dean’s protests. When they got home they tried to help him get into bed, but he pushed them off. He wasn’t a child. They got him some water and set one of the pills by the bed. Dean noticed that Sam squirreled the bottle away. Perhaps he was worried Dean would take the whole bottle. He supposed he couldn’t blame him. He thanked them and said he just wanted to sleep. 

 

Dean lay in his bed staring at the pill. He shut his eyes and turned away. Panic attacks. Stupid panic attacks. He curled up into himself and slowly drifted off to sleep. 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dean slept almost nine hours. Guess an anxiety attack will do that to you. The pill still sat on his bed side table, the half empty glass of water next to it. He picked the pill up and turned over in his hand, studying the white edges. How had he gone from stitching up his own wounds to needing a little white pill to calm some nerves? 

 

His stomach was growling and he realized he hadn’t had a bite to eat since the previous afternoon. He tossed the pill back on the table and climbed out of bed. 

 

Dean was grateful to find an empty kitchen. He wasn’t ready for the looks and questions. He wasn’t ready to be treated like a child again. He grabbed a couple of eggs, some bacon and a slice of toast. The smell of the bacon filled the kitchen and he felt his mouth fill with saliva. 

 

Dean was halfway through his breakfast when Sam walked in. “Morning Dean.” Sam poured himself a cup of coffee.

 

“Morning.” Dean muttered over a mouthful of bacon and eggs. 

 

Sam sat down across from him and took a look at Dean’s plate of food. “Well, guess it’s a good thing it wasn’t a heart attack or that bacon would be off the menu.”

 

Dean popped the last bit of bacon into his mouth. “Bacon will never be off the menu.” Sam smiled. 

 

They sat in silence as Dean finished up the last of breakfast. It was nice. No looks of pity. No questions or rules. It was just Sam and Dean. Brothers again.

 

Dean was cleaning up his dishes when Sam cleared his throat. “Dean, listen about yesterday-” He looked down at his now empty coffee cup. 

 

Dean put down a dishtowel and leaned against the counter. “Sam, it’s okay. I deserved it.”

 

“I shouldn’t have treated you like a child.”

 

“Well, I was acting like one.”

 

Sam looked up. “I was so scared yesterday. I thought for sure you-”

 

“Yeah, me too.”

 

Sam took a deep breath and sat up straighter. “Okay, so the car thing was too far.” Dean smirked. “But I need to know that you’re not going to go off and get blackout drunk every night. Especially now that you’re-” He licked his lips. “You can’t do that on that medication.” 

 

“I know.”

 

“Okay.” Sam picked at a piece of lint on the table and Dean could see that something was nagging him.

 

“What is it, Sammy?”

 

“When is your next therapy appointment?”

 

“Two weeks.”

 

Sam blinked and looked up at Dean. “I, and this is just a suggestion, but I think you should try and go sooner.”

 

“Sam-”

 

He held up his hand. “I’m not trying to be controlling here, but Dean you just had a panic attack. You were in the emergency room. Doesn’t that worry you?”

 

It terrified him. “I’m fine, Sam.” 

 

“Are you really?”

 

Dean glanced away. He didn’t want to go further with this, so he did the only thing he could. “Okay. Fine. I’ll see if I can see her earlier.” Sam smiled. “But I’m driving myself.”

 

Sam smiled. “Okay, fine.”

 

He smiled back at him and felt a little bit of that anxiety creeping back up again.

 

* * *

 

He was able to get in to see Laura two days later. Sam was thrilled and stuck to his word about letting him drive himself, but he did insist that Dean take at least a pill with him in case. 

 

Less than a week between sessions. God that was terrifying. 

 

They had already gone through the check-in. Asked and answered the how are you question. Dean was just peachy, which he guessed she wasn’t buying this time. 

 

“So, Dean, why did you change your appointment?”

 

Dean fiddled with the buttons on his shirt, trying to come up with something other than the truth. “I...there might be a job coming up soon and I just thought it might be awhile till I came back.” It wasn’t the worst lie out there.

 

She stared at him for what seemed like forever. Dean kept trying to avert his eyes, convinced she could see his lies. She crossed her legs. “Well, I’m glad I could get you in.” Well, that was easy. “How are things with you and Sam?”

 

He swallowed. “Awesome.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

 

“Yep. We talked and everything. It’s all good now.” He glanced away and felt a surge of guilt. Lying to her felt so wrong. 

 

She looked down at her notebook and then back at Dean. “And did you write a letter to him?”

 

Dean wrung his hands. He felt a tinge of nerves creeping in. “Oh yeah. I wrote a couple of them.”

 

“A couple? Wow. That’s pretty impressive.” Dean gave her a quick smile. God he hated this. “Did you bring them with you?”

 

“I thought you said they were for me.”

 

“Yes, of course. Just thought I would check.”

 

“No. I didn’t.”

 

“It must be a relief to have things cleared up with you two.”

 

“It’s just swell.” He glanced down at his hands in his lap and noticed they were shaking slightly. He said a silent prayer that his foolish anxiety wasn’t about to make an appearance. 

 

Laura leaned forward. “Dean?”

 

He quickly looked up at her and saw concern in her eyes. “Yeah?”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

He swallowed, throat felt fine. “Never better.” He licked his lips. “But can I have some water.”

 

“Of course.” She reached over and grabbed him a bottle.

 

Dean emptied the whole bottle in one drink. He could feel her watching him. He wiped the remnants of water from his mouth and tried to smile. “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.” She studied him for another minute and then turned back to her notebook. “So, last time we were talking about-”

 

He couldn’t do it. “I lied.” 

 

She looked up at him. “You lied?” He nodded. “About what?”

 

He wiped his hands on his legs. “Everything. About why I rescheduled. Sam. All of it.”

 

She looked at him not with shame or pity, but understanding and kindness. Dean felt a slight discomfort in his stomach. “Do you want to tell me why you rescheduled, Dean?”

 

“Because Sam wanted me to.”

 

“Why did Sam want you to?”

 

“Because-” He could just tell her about Sam finding out about the drinking thing. That would be good enough, right? “Because I had a panic attack and um...” He crossed his arms and looked away. “I ended up in the emergency room.”

 

“That must have been scary”

 

“I thought I was having a heart attack.” He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “How embarrassing is that?”

 

“It’s pretty common actually.”

 

“Yeah, but how many people end up in the emergency room.”

 

“Quite a lot actually.”

 

He swallowed. “Yeah, well, it’s still silly. I mean I honestly thought I was dying and I just had a case of anxiety.”

 

“Dean, anxiety attacks aren’t just a little thing.”

 

He looked down. “They gave me a prescription.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Ativan”

 

She made a note in her notebook. “Have you taken any yet?”

 

“No.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“I haven’t had any anxiety.” Now there was a lie. 

 

“Just a little bit ago you’re hands were shaking” So she noticed. “And you downed almost an entire bottle of water in under ten seconds.” 

 

“I was thirsty.”

 

“Anxiety disorders are very common, Dean.”

 

He recoiled a bit. “Hey, I don’t have a disorder.”

 

“Okay. Maybe not.”

 

“I don’t. I just had an attack, okay.”

 

“You’ve had anxiety in here before.”

 

He pursed his lips. “Well, it’s a shrinks office. Of course I’m gonna have some anxiety.”

 

“Fair enough.” She watched him for a second and Dean was suddenly acutely aware of his body language. He tried to relax. “Are you scared to take the medication?”

 

He scoffed. “No.” Another lie. 

 

“Because taking medication doesn’t make you weak.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“Would you think a cancer patient was weak for getting chemo?’

 

He laughed. “Come on, you’re comparing a little anxiety to cancer.”

 

“A little anxiety doesn’t land you in the hospital. A little anxiety doesn’t cause you to think you’re dying.” He looked away. Shame spreading through him. “But it doesn’t make you weak either.”

 

He glanced back at her. “But I can’t have anxiety. I mean it’s one thing if it’s brought on by something huge, you know.” He sat forward. “Like flying. Flying is a valid reason.”

 

“You’re afraid of flying?”

 

“Yes.” He sat back. “But I wasn’t flying and I can’t afford to just have anxiety whenever-” He didn’t even know how to finish that sentence. “I just can’t.”

 

“Do you know what brought on the attack?”

 

He blinked. “No.” 

 

“Okay. What happened right before your attack?”

 

“Um...nothing. I was just listening to music.” 

 

“How about before that?”

 

He glanced toward the window. “I was talking to Sam and Cas.”

 

“About what?”

 

“About the other night. When I got drunk.”

 

“What was their reaction?”

 

“They basically wanted to ground me.”

 

“Ground you?”

 

He leaned back. “Yeah, they wanted to monitor everything I was doing at every minute.”

 

“Like you were a teenager.”

 

He threw up his hands. “Exactly. They even wanted to take my car away.”

 

“Did that make you angry?”

 

“Of course.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And the worst part is they weren’t even going to say anything to me at first.”

 

She looked at him, confusion on her face. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, they were talking together all secret like when I got home and they lied to me about it.” He shook his head. “And then when I came clean they decided to treat me like a damn child.” 

 

“So, they lied to you. Talked about you behind your back. And then punished you when you were honest.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That must have really hurt.”

 

He knitted his brow. “What? No. I felt...I was angry” He took a breath. “We’ve all lied to each other. We have. I just thought we were past that.” 

 

“Did you tell them how you felt?”

 

“Kind of.”

 

“What does that mean”

 

“I told them that it was their fault I was drinking.” He chewed on his bottom lip. “Pretty shitty, huh?”

 

“You were being honest about the way you felt.”

 

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t blame them. I mean it’s my fault I got drunk.”

 

“How did they take it?”

 

“I could tell Cas felt awful and in all fairness he wasn’t who I was really talking about.”

 

“Sam was.”

 

“Yeah.” He looked down at his hands. 

 

“How did Sam react?”

 

Dean swallowed. “He said he was tired of taking care of me all the time.” 

 

“And how did that make you feel?”

 

He rubbed the palm of his hand with his thumb. “Used.” His shoulders slumped and he felt like he was sinking further back into the couch. “I know that makes no sense.”

 

“You’ve been taking care of your brother since you were a child. And I’m sure it felt like he was just throwing that away.”

 

“I guess.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I told them to fuck themselves and then I left.”

 

“And how soon after that was your attack?”

 

“Um...pretty much right after.”

 

“Dean, why do you think you had the panic attack?”

 

He felt his lips tremble and felt his heart beating a little bit faster. “I don’t know. Maybe my anger.” He shut his eyes and tried to stop the tears from coming. “I don’t know. Because I felt like-” He felt his heart rate speeding up.

 

“Dean, look at me.” Dean forced his eyes open and looked at her through tears. “You’re in a safe space here. I promise.”

 

He swallowed. “I don’t think he respects me.” He licked his lips. “I know he loves me. I do. But the way he looks at me sometimes...it’s like I’m nothing.”

 

“That’s gotta be so painful.” Dean put his head down and a tear fell to his hand. “Dean, are you okay?”

 

He nodded and looked up. “Don’t worry. No need for an emergency room.” 

 

She smiled. “Do you need some more water?” He nodded. She grabbed him another bottle of water and he took a sip. “Do you need to take your medication?”

 

No. He could do this. “I don’t-” He looked down at his hands. They were starting to shake. Not as bad as the last time, but it was there. He nodded and then looked down. “Yeah.”

 

“Remember, there’s no shame.”

 

_ That’s easy for you to say, _ he thought. Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the pill he took with him. He stared at it for a minute and then popped it in his mouth and swallowed.

 

“I’m proud of you Dean.”  

 

He shifted in his seat. “Thanks.”

 

“We don’t have to talk anymore about this right now. We can wait till you feel a little better.”

“Okay.”

 

“Do you want me to put on any music or do you want to talk about something else?”

 

“No. Can we just...silence would be nice.”

 

“Okay. You just tell me when you’re ready to continue.”

 

“Okay.”

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Dean trying to steady his breathing. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back. If he was going to go through this with someone watching him he didn’t want to have to look at her. 

 

The sounds around him became noticeably louder. But it was comforting somehow. First there was the heater turning on, a little click and then a hum. Next there was the noise of a semi backing up outside. The beep, beep, beep. A woman laughing in the distance. Base from some unknowable song. Horns honking. Dogs barking. 

 

But the nicest sound was the light wind outside. He concentrated on that. Imagined the wind growing stronger. Imagined it blowing the window open. Taking his hand and carrying him away to somewhere beautiful. Maybe a nice beach. Maybe Bobby’s old cabin in the woods. He’d settle in on the couch. Light a fire and drink a beer. Maybe eat some pie. Yes, definitely pie. He licked his lips, imagining how sweet it would taste. 

 

His heart rate slowed and his breathing returned to normal. After another minute, Dean opened his eyes. He slowly lifted up his head and looked down at his hands. No shaking. 

 

“Better?’

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“You looked peaceful.” He gave her a shy smile. “Do you want to continue the session?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“We can talk about anything you want.”

 

“Do you-” He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

 

“Dean, remember this is a safe place.”

 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just...um...do you think-” He took a deep breath. “Do you really think I’m smart?”

 

She looked a little taken aback and he instantly regretted asking it. “Never mind. I’m sorry I asked you that. I just-”

 

“Yes, Dean, I really do.”

 

He smiled and felt a slight blush creep up on his cheek. “Do you think-” He swallowed. “Do you think Sam thinks I’m smart?”

 

She gave him a soft smile. “I’m sure he does.”

 

“But you don’t know.”

 

“No. But I’m sure he cares about you. He wanted you to come here and yes, even those restrictions were a sign that he cares.” She leaned forward. “But that doesn’t mean that you were wrong to be hurt by that.”

 

“Yeah.” He took a sip of water. “And you really think writing a letter will help.”

 

“Yes. I really do.”

 

“Okay.” He nodded. “Okay.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter kind of got away from me while I was writing it. I did not plan on giving Dean an anxiety attack or almost two. I will be getting to Sam and Dean actually talking and Dean opening up to Sam. It's just taking a little longer to get to where it seems right. Thanks again for reading. :)
> 
> And I hope everyone loves the season premiere tomorrow. So excited to have our show back on!


	4. Cherry, Chocolate and Pecan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finally gets a reward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor violence in this chapter, but not much else warning wise. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has given feedback on this series. I can't began to tell you how much it means to me. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

The next few days went by in a flash of salt rounds and iron. When Dean had returned from his therapy session he was greeted by a harried Sam and his own duffel bag being tossed his way. Sam had gotten a call from Donna about some strange activity that may be spirit related. Three locals had been thrown to their death and two more were in the hospital. Sam filled Dean in on what details he had as they got on the road.

 

They met Donna at the Police Station and she had quickly escorted them into an interrogation room, making sure no camera were on. She filled them in on any other details they may need and let them know that the two surviving victims had been the ones to mention seeing an apparition. Donna confirmed the smell of sulfur at each crime scene. Definitely sounded like their kind of thing. Donna gave them the keys to her place and said they could set up shop there.

 

Sam and Dean set about scouring the papers for any link between the victims. Pretty soon they came upon a story of a recent suspicious death in a house that sat smack dab in the center of where all the attacks had taken place. Turned out a local man named Henry Duvall had fallen from his second story balcony. It was ruled an accident, but as it turned out Henry had not been very popular among his neighbors. He was the sole holdout over a proposed, and very lucrative, development deal. So, several of his neighbors gathered together to try to scare him by trying to convince him that his property was haunted. The irony. Well, things went wrong when one of the scares led to his fall from the balcony. His neck instantly broken. Now it appeared that Henry was set on exacting revenge in the same manner of his death.

 

Once they figured out the source, the hunt became more of a typical salt ‘n burn. Dean went to make sure the other people on Henry’s to-do list were okay, while Donna and Sam paid a visit to Henry’s gravesite. Before Sam could dig up the grave, Dean went through three salt rounds and  a few swings of an iron fire poker, as he saved one of Henry’s neighbors from his wrath. Finally, after Dean was knocked into a wall and nearly thrown down a flight of stairs, Henry went up in smoke. Dean collapsed on the floor, breathing hard. “Finally.” He felt the back of his head, no blood, but he knew he was going to have one hell of a headache. He pulled himself up and let Sam know everything appeared to be fine.

 

After they had all met back up, Donna suggested they go out for some celebratory drinks. Dean saw Sam’s eyes widen and fill with fear. Dean smiled. “How about we go out for a celebratory slice of pie instead?

 

She laughed, “Dean Winchester turning down a drink? Are you sure you’re Dean Winchester?” She gave him a little playful nudge and winked. He gave her a quick smile. She looked toward Sam, who was frowning. “ Tough room.” She leaned over toward Dean. “Everything okay?”

 

Dean glanced at Sam, who looked at him and shrugged. Dean placed his hand on her arm. “It’s a little embarrassing. You see Sam talked me into doing this cleanse thing.” Dean gestured toward Sam and got his patented bitch face in return.

 

Donna just laughed and gave Dean’s arm a playful pat. “I don’t think pie works for a cleanse, Dean.”

 

“Hey, pie works for everything.”

 

“True, but-” She patted her stomach. “Afraid I can’t. I have five more pounds to go.”

 

Dean took a step back and looked at her. He smiled brightly. “What are you talking about? You look great, Donna.” And it was the truth. Dean never understood why she was so hard on herself. She blushed slightly. “Seriously, one piece of pie won’t hurt.”

 

“Dean, don’t-”

 

Donna held up her hand. “He’s right. One slice won’t kill me.”

 

Dean held up his hand in triumph. “A round of pies it is.”

 

“You betcha.” She hooked her arm in Dean and Sam’s.

 

* * *

 

_ The House of Pies _ really lived up to it’s name. Dean’s eyes went wide just looking at the three page menu. Fruit pies. Cream pies. Fruit and cream pies. Nut pies. Chocolate. They even had a low-fat, sugar-free blueberry pie. Dean grimaced, but Sam predictably ordered it. Of course he also asked for whip cream on top. Donna settled on a slice of peach pie a la mode. “Hey, if I’m going to do this I might as well go all the way.”

 

Dean winked at her. “Damn straight.” Dean on the other hand couldn’t decide. Truth was he was tempted to order one of everything. It had been a long time since he'd had a good piece of pie. But he feared that even that much pie might be too much. So he settled on one slice each of cherry, pecan and chocolate cream pie.

 

When the pies were laid out in front of him he may have let out a little sigh and his eyes became wide as saucers. And his mouth definitely filled with saliva. He rubbed his hands together. “Come to poppa” Sam and Donna let out a little chuckle. Dean licked his lips and surveyed the slices before him. He didn’t know where to start. He cracked his knuckles. “Eeny, meeny, miney, moe.” His finger pointed to cherry pie with a lattice crust. Sam and Donna were snickering and trying to hold it together.  

 

He smiled, picked up his fork and dug into the cherry pie. He closed his mouth around the fork and was instantly in heaven. He bit into one of the cherry’s and was rewarded with just the right amount of sour and sweet. The crust was light and flaky and just all together perfect.  He closed his eyes and swallowed, a smile spreading across his face. This was what it was all about. This was what made life worth living.

 

Next, the pecan. He licked his lips and dove in. He didn’t know how it was possible, but the pecan was even better. The sweetness was balanced out perfectly by the saltiness of the nuts. When he inhaled he got an awesome whiff of vanilla. The filling was soft and sticky, but not too overpowering. The crust was just as flaky as the cherry pie and he was tempted to just order a side of crust to go. He swallowed and sighed. Yes, this was heaven.

 

Finally, the chocolate cream pie. The crust was a light brown and there were delicate chocolate shavings on top. Before diving in, he picked one up and placed it on his tongue. The chocolate slowly melted in his mouth like a kiss. He smiled and dug his fork into the pie, placing a generous bite into his mouth. The cream and chocolate were rich, that was for sure, but there was also something sensual about it. Something better than just that little kiss the chocolate shaving had given him. Yes, this was definitely his favorite of the three. He took another bite and closed his eyes, letting out a nearly pornographic moan.

 

“Do you want us to leave you two alone?” Sam chuckled.

 

Dean pointed his chocolate coated fork at him. “Hey, don’t judge.” He took another bite and felt a sense of serenity and calm, almost like getting out of a warm bath. He looked down at the pie and with his mouth full said, “Marry me.” Donna and Sam lost it and they were near tears from laughing so hard.

 

Dean managed to finish all three slices and bought one whole chocolate cream pie to go. They said their goodbyes to Donna and made their way to the Impala. The smile had not left Dean’s face. The drive back to the bunker was long, but it was actually enjoyable. They were relatively silent, with just a few little bickers about what road to take and what song to play. But it was comfortable.

 

They were about an hour outside Lebanon and  _ Def Leppard _ playing on the radio. Sam looked over at Dean. “It’s nice to see you happy, Dean.”

 

Dean smiled and looked over at him. “That’s what a little pie will do for you.”

 

“I want you to know that I’m proud of you, Dean.”

 

Dean rubbed his neck and felt that slight tinge of discomfort he always got in situations like this. He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

 

“I know it hasn’t been easy.” Dean glanced at him. “And I know I haven’t always been easy on you.”

 

Dean shrugged and tried to blow it off. “No biggie.”

 

“All I want is for you to be happy, Dean. ”

 

“Well, just try not to ever forget the pie again and we’ll be good.”

 

“I’m being serious”

 

“I know.” He glanced at Sam and gave him a smile. “Thanks, Sammy.”

 

Sam looked down and smiled. “Jerk.”

 

“Bitch.” Dean smiled the rest of the way home.

 

* * *

 

Back at the bunker, Dean took a quick shower, letting the water run over the knots that the long drive had created. He put on a t-shirt and boxers and put on his favorite robe. Despite the bruises the hunt had given him. Despite the long drive he had been on. Dean felt relaxed in a way he hadn’t in months. Heck, years.   

 

Dean cut himself another slice of that heavenly pie, sat down at his desk, and began to compose a letter.

 

* * *

 

He kept his weekly session appointment and, surprisingly enough, Dean found himself relieved to be sitting on Laura’s couch. He even caught himself giving her a genuinely happy smile upon seeing her. They ran through the check-in questions with little hesitation or negativity, and when she asked him how he was and the answer was good, he meant it.

 

“You do seem happy, Dean,” He gave her another smile that reached his eyes. “Did anything special happen?”

 

“Well, I do think it has something to do with the amazing pie I had recently.” She laughed and he chuckled with her.

 

“What kind of pie?”

 

“Three kinds really. Cherry, pecan and chocolate cream pie. But I have to tell you, that chocolate cream pie was one of the most delicious things I’ve put in my mouth.” He snickered under his breath, but she didn’t seem to notice.

 

“Do you get pie often?”

 

He shook his head. “Sadly, most of the time the pie is either forgotten about or I have to leave before I can truly enjoy it.”

 

“Was it something you had a lot as a child?”

 

Dean had somehow missed the point where this simple talk about pie had led to more childhood discussions. He should’ve known nothing in therapy was accidental. He shrugged, trying to make this as non-therapeutic as possible. “When I was little my mom would bake pies a lot.”

 

“Was chocolate cream pie her specialty?”

 

Dean shook his head. “Nope. Apple.” He smiled thinking of the lingering smell of cinnamon that would stay in the kitchen long after the pie was devoured. How buttery the crust was and the tartness of the apple that balanced out the sweetness inside. No pie would ever come close to her’s.

 

“And after your mom died, did you still have pie?”

 

Dean shook himself from the memories and felt his stomach flip. “We didn’t...there was no time for baking.”

 

“Not even store-bought?”

 

For the first time, Dean didn’t want to talk about pie. “I don’t know. Occasionally.” He shifted in his seat. “But I can have it now, so it doesn’t really matter. It’s just pie.”

 

He waited with bated breath for her to press this. She hesitated for a minute and then opened up the notebook. “How are things with Sam?” Dean felt relief that the subject had been changed.

 

“They’re actually good.” Dean smiled. “We had a job the other day and it was the first time in weeks that he didn’t annoy me.”

 

“I’m so glad to hear that.”

 

“It was like old times.” Dean picked at a piece of frayed fabric on his shirt. “I actually...I wrote him a letter.”

 

She smiled brightly and a bit of pride filled her eyes. “I’m so proud of you, Dean.” He smiled and rubbed his neck, feeling slightly nervous. “How did that feel?”

 

“I didn’t even mean to.” He crossed his arms. “It just kind of happened.”

 

“That’s great, Dean.”

 

He chewed on his bottom lip and placed his right hand on his jean pocket. He had somehow forgotten that he had brought it with him. It had happened so casually. Car keys. Check. Letter. Check. “I actually-” He pulled out the folded letter. “I brought it with me.”  

 

“Do you want to read it?” Dean looked down at the letter in his hand and saw his hands were trembling. “You don’t have to.”

 

He wasn’t sure why he brought the letter with him. He wasn’t sure why he brought any of the letters with him. “It’s not complete.”

 

“That’s okay.”

 

“It’s just a start and just a few things. I don’t know. It’s probably not even useful. I was in a good mood when I wrote it, so it probably doesn’t help and-” He knew he was babbling. “Maybe I should wait till it’s complete.”

 

“Whatever you want to do, Dean.” She smiled. “And it doesn’t matter what it says or your mood when you wrote it. There is no right or wrong here.”

 

“Yeah.” He turned the letter over in his hand, studying the folds and the corner that was curled up. “He told me he was proud of me.”

 

“How did that make you feel?”

 

“Embarrassed.”

 

She tilted her head. “Why embarrassed?”

 

He shrugged and sat back. “I don’t know. I just sometimes feel...it feels weird when people say stuff like that to me.”

 

“Do you have a hard time taking compliments?”

 

He let out a breath he'd been holding since pulling out the letter. “I guess.” He set the letter down in his lap. “I just don’t think that...I don’t feel I deserve them.”

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

“Okay, so I can take it when someone compliments my car or the music I listen to.” He shook his head. “But when it’s about...that stuff I just-” He glanced toward the window. “I’ve done a lot of shitty things in my life. I’ve failed at things that I was supposed to do well.”  _ I let Sammy die more than once. Let him go to hell. Wasn’t there to save my friends and family. Let my dad sell his soul for me. _

 

“Dean, humans make mistakes.”

 

“I know that, but the mistakes I’ve made-” He clasped his hands together and looked down.

 

“Dean, there are people in this world who are cruel on purpose. People who see nothing wrong with doing that.” She didn’t have to tell him that. “There are people who don’t care about anyone but themselves.”

 

“Well, I’ve hurt people on purpose too.”  _ I’ve killed people. I’ve had eyes black as night and innocent blood on my hands. _

 

“I’ve been in this field for nearly twenty years now. I’ve seen people from all walks of life and with all sorts of histories. And I can tell you one thing for sure, you are  _ not _ a cruel person. You are a compassionate person who gives so much to the people he loves.”

 

Dean looked at her and then glanced down. How could that possibly make up for the hurt and pain he had caused. “Dean, you helped raise your brother. You still take care of him and you care deeply for the other people in your life, even people whom others may have given up on.” She leaned forward and Dean looked up at her again. “You come here and you actually open up. You listen and you fight back when you feel you need to.” She gestured toward the letter by his side. “You do hard work outside of here as well. A selfish, awful person. A person who wasn’t worthy of praise. Someone who actively tried to hurt people. A person like that wouldn’t do what you have done. Trust me.”

 

He sighed. There were the countless lives he saved. They did stop the apocalypse. His brother always had a meal, even if it was macaroni and marshmallow fluff. He just didn’t know if it could erase everything else he had done.

 

“Dean, do you really think your brother would lie to you about being proud of you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then can you try and see that he means it when he says he’s proud of you?”

 

He blinked, glanced at the letter, and then looked back at her. “Yeah.”

 

“That’s a step.” He gave her a quick smile. “I’d also like you to consider writing down these compliments. Maybe put them up by your mirror or somewhere where you can see them every day.”

 

He gaped at her. “Seriously?”

 

“It may sound silly.”  _ May sound? _ “But sometimes it can help to actually see them.”

 

He doubted he would ever be able to do that. It felt so weird, but he supposed humoring her was a nice thing to do. “Okay. Maybe.”

 

She made a note in her notebook and he knew that meant it was gonna be brought up at their next appointment. “Now that you have written the letter, have you thought about doing another group session with Sam?”

 

“Oh I don’t think-” He licked his lips and crossed his arms. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

 

“That’s fine.” She glanced at the letter again and Dean picked it up, placing it back on his lap.

 

He rolled his shoulders back, looked down at the letter and forced himself to put it back in his pocket. “Why did you ask me so many questions about pie?” He didn’t know where that came from. He was supposed to be relieved to not have to delve to deep into that. He made a mental note to maybe try to test the air in here for a drug that caused him to do this.

 

“It seemed to hold some significance for you.”

 

“I tried to bake a pie for Sam once. An apple one like my mom made. You know he never got to have any of it before she...it didn’t go too well.” He let out a soft laugh. “I nearly burned down the tiny kitchen in the motel we were staying at.”

 

“How old were you?”

 

“I was about ten.” Dean leaned back, crossing his arms. “That smell, man it stayed the entire time we were there. My dad was not pleased and Sam swore off apples for almost a year.”

 

“Did you ever try again?”

 

“Baking?” She nodded. “No. Well, at least not apple pie. Cooking I’m pretty good at.”

 

“Did you cook for Sam a lot?”

 

“Yeah, but I wasn’t always that great at it then. Of course we didn’t always have the best ingredients.”

 

“Did you ever go hungry?”

 

“No. Sam always had something to eat.”

 

“I mean, did  _ you  _ ever go hungry?”

 

He swallowed and shifted his position. “I didn’t need as much food as Sam.” Dean shook his head, even he had a hard time with that little lie.

 

“So occasionally you would go without so Sam could eat?”

 

“Yes, but he was growing and-”

 

“You were growing too.”

 

“I’m not going to blame Sam for that.”

 

“And you shouldn’t.”

 

Dean swallowed. “My dad didn’t always have...there wasn’t always money and sometimes we had to make do with what we had. I mean my dad went without a couple of times.”

 

“How about now. Do you ever go without food now?”

 

“I try like hell not to. I love food.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I mean I don’t always eat well. Okay, I rarely eat well, but I do love to eat.”

 

“Especially pie?”

 

“Yes, especially pie.”

 

“And your mother made the best pie.”

 

“Yes. Hands down best pie ever.”

 

“Was it comforting?”

 

“Yeah, I guess. If I scraped my knee or was crying.”

 

“Did it comfort you the other day?”

 

“I don’t know about that.” He laughed. “It was just really good pie.”

 

“That made you really happy.”   
  
  


“Yeah.” He smiled, remembering all the different tastes and his mouth began to water. He swallowed. “It also feels safe somehow. Having pie.” He shook his head at how ridiculous that sounded to him. “That’s so stupid.”

 

“No it’s not. It makes sense. Your mom made you pie. Your mom was comfort and safety. Your mom was taken from you. It makes sense that it might bring some of that back for you.”

 

“Yeah. Maybe.”

 

“How does it feel to talk about your mother?”

 

“Fine, I guess.” He crossed his arms. “I mean I wrote that letter to her.”

 

“Do you and Sam ever talk about her?”

 

He knitted his brow. “Rarely. He was just a baby when she died.”

 

“How about your dad?”

 

“Yeah, sometimes. Not too much lately though.”

 

“I wonder if Sam’s view on them is different from yours.”

 

“Well, Sam and my dad fought constantly. But he loved him.”

 

“Maybe ask him how he feels about him now.”

 

“Oh I don’t know. That’s...I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I just don’t want him to have to think about that.”

 

She studied his face for a second and Dean tried to decipher what was behind that look. “Okay. Well, it can also be something we can talk about in here.”

 

“Man, you aren’t gonna drop that, are you?”

 

“It’s part of my job.”

 

“Okay. I’ll think about it.” He let out a little chuckle.

 

They spent the rest of the session talking about what his next week would look like. Was there a job coming up? Did have anything fun planned? It was relatively painless and after they scheduled their next appointment and said their goodbyes, Dean found himself surprisingly relaxed. Maybe he was getting the hang of this thing.

 

When he arrived back at the bunker there was a note from Sam. He had decided to go into town to check out some local art show and he had dragged Cas along with him. Although, in reality Cas probably wanted to go as well. Sam did add a little post-script asking Dean to text him when he arrived. So, some of the trust wasn’t completely back. Dean quickly shot off a text stating his arrival and telling Sam to try not to fall asleep from boredom. This earned an emoji that Dean guessed was supposed to be an eye roll. Dean smiled and put his phone in his back pocket.

 

He turned around in a circle. He was alone in the bunker. He made himself a turkey sandwich and ate in complete silence. When he was done, he rinsed off his plate and walked from room to room, letting the solitude cover him. There were brief flutters of nerves and a couple of quick glances at his phone. But there was something else there. Something unfamiliar. A slight comfort in the silence. He smiled to himself and walked to his room.

 

Dean sat down on his bed and pulled out the letter to Sam. He opened it up and scanned the page. It really was just a start. No completion. No salutation. He carried the letter over to his desk, smoothed out the paper and sat down.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, eventually you will get to hear the letter and there will be more exploration of their childhood. I want to thank the people who helped me with the pecan pie description. I'm allergic and have no idea what a good pecan pie should taste like. Hopefully I did it justice. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! <3


	5. Taking Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean struggles with what to do with a letter to Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who continues to read this series. This is a shorter chapter and will serve to set-up the rest, but I am also posting an extra chapter right after this one. No real warnings for this one.

Four pages. How had he written four pages? He supposed that that was really small potatoes in the scheme of things, but it still shocked him. His eyes were slightly red and he massaged a cramp out of his right hand. His eyes surveyed the words that seemed to flow so effortlessly, without any internal editing. 

 

There was a knock on the door, causing Dean to jump slightly. He quickly turned the pages over and cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

 

Sam slowly opened the door and poked his head in. “Hey. Just wanted to let you know we’re back?”

 

Dean knitted his brow. _ Back? Oh yeah, right that exhibit thing _ . Dean smiled. “You didn’t fall asleep on the way home.”

 

“Ha. Ha.” Sam glanced down at the desk and noticed the letter. He pointed toward it. “What’s that?”

 

Dammit, why didn’t he put it away. “It’s nothing. Just more therapy stuff.” Sam continued to stare at the letter and Dean was worried that he could actually read the whole thing from there. 

 

After a second Sam shook his head and looked at Dean. “Sorry, none of my business.” Sam crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe. “So, how was therapy?”

 

“It was okay.”

 

Sam studied Dean’s face for a minute, probably noticing how red his eyes were. He glanced one more time at the letter and then looked back at Dean. “Well, I’m going to hit the sack. Maybe actually try and get a decent night’s sleep.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

Sam paused for a second, before heading out with a simple a “Night, Dean”. Dean let out a breath he had been holding and leaned back in the chair. He glanced over at the letter. He shook his head. He folded the letter and put it in the desk drawer. 

 

* * *

 

The next few days were quiet. No cases. Nothing. They spent their time watching movies, showing Cas all their favorite action flicks and comedies. Thank God Cas actually seemed to appreciate  _ Cadydshack. _ They went into town and even caught a movie in the theater. They ate, laughed and also suffered bouts of boredom. And every night Dean would pull out the letter to Sam and try to figure out what to do with it. 

 

There were a couple of times he almost gave it to Sam. He would put in his back pocket or hold it in his hand as he walked the bunker. But in the end he always chickened out, putting the letter aside either swearing he would try again the next day or coming up with a litany of reasons why he shouldn’t. Why would Sam want to read it anyway? Things were good right now. Dean hadn’t been feeling that usual frustration or anger recently, so why rock the boat. 

 

Day five rolled around and Dean still hadn’t gotten up the courage to give it to him. He didn’t really have to. There was no rule or requirement and Laura had even said it was just for him. But it was nagging him. It was like this weird secret he was keeping. 

 

Sam was sitting in the library reading. Dean sat down across from him, the letter sitting in his back pocket. He sat there quietly for a few moments, until Sam glanced over at him. “What?”

 

Dean shook his head and looked down at his hands. “Nothing. Just...how’s the book?”

 

Sam sat up and set the book down. “What’s up, Dean?”

 

He could do it. He could just pull the letter out, set it down and walk away. “Nothing, just bored.”

 

Sam cocked his eyebrow. “Come on, Dean. I know that look. You’re worried about something.”

 

Dean looked up at him and swallowed. “Did you ever like writing?”  _ Where did that come from? _

 

Sam looked just as shocked. “You mean like in school?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Sam crossed his arms and looked up. He shrugged. “Yeah, sometimes. I had a great English teacher once who made me believe I had talent. Why?”

 

“Nothing, just boredom questions I guess.” 

 

Sam sat forward. “Is everything okay?

 

Just say yes. Just blow it off or quickly change the subject. Dean looked down at his hands. “I used to love writing.” What the hell was he doing?

 

“What?” 

 

Dean closed his eyes, instantly regretting this. “Never mind, it’s silly.” Dean stood up. “I’ll let you get back to your book.” 

 

“Wait, Dean-”

 

Dean waved a hand. “Forget it, Sammy. I’m just bored.” He gave him a small smile and walked away. The letter still in his back pocket. 

 

* * *

 

Therapy day had arrived and Dean still hadn’t given the letter to Sam. He had been asked about that weird writing confession several times, but Dean had blown it off. So now he sat on Laura’s couch, the letter in his back pocket. They had been talking about how quiet his week had been and how everything seemed to be going well. And all he could think about was the pages folded neatly. How the crease was getting more defined with every day. How sometimes he literally thought they were burning a hole in his pocket.

 

“I’m glad you’ve had a restful week, Dean. I know-”

 

“I finished the letter.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

Dean reached into his back pocket and pulled the letter out. “The letter to Sam. I finished it.” He held it tightly. 

 

“That’s great, Dean.” She glanced down at the letter. “How does it feel?”

 

“Weird. I don’t know.”  He turned the letter over in his hands. “I keep trying to give it to him and I just can’t.”

 

“That’s okay. He doesn’t ever have to see it.”

 

“I know, but somehow it feels like a secret I’m keeping. Like I’m lying to him.”

 

“Do you want to read it to me? Maybe that would help.”

 

He shook his head. Somehow the idea of hearing it out loud was harder than thinking of giving it to Sam. “But maybe...maybe you could read it. Not out loud, but-” He reached his hand out. “Maybe you can tell me if...if you think I should give it to Sam.” Dean was struck with how easy it was to watch her take the letter. Knowing that she would be reading every word. Analyzing it.

 

She held the letter and smiled. “I can’t make that decision for you, Dean. But I can let you know what I would suggest you do.” 

 

“Okay.” She started to open the letter and Dean jumped up. “No! Not now.” She looked up at him, a little confused. He sat back down. “I’m sorry. I just...maybe you could take it home and read it or I could leave the room or...I just don’t want to be here when you read it.” He looked down at his lap and shook his head. “That’s stupid.”

 

“No it’s not.” He looked up at her. “I’ll take it home with me and at our next session I’ll let you know what I think. Is that okay?”

 

He smiled and felt relief fill him. “Yeah. Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.” She put the letter inside an envelope and then placed it in her purse with such care that Dean felt a little ache in his heart. She smiled at him. “Thank you for trusting me with that, Dean. I won’t take it lightly.” He was surprised how readily he believed her. “So, how are things with Sam?”

 

“Good. They’re still good.” Dean crossed his arms. “We’ve been getting along.”

 

“I’m glad.”

 

Dean leaned back “I...I told him how I used to like to write..”

 

“You did?” Dean nodded. “What did Sam say?”

 

“What?” She opened her mouth, but Dean spoke up. “That’s what he said. What?”

 

“How did that make you feel?”

 

He shrugged. “Fine. I mean it was silly that I even brought it up.”

 

“Why did you bring it up?”

 

“I don’t know. I had the letter in my pocket and I was trying again to work up the courage to give it to him, and it just sort of happened.”

 

“Did he say anything else?”

 

“No. I kind of told him to forget it and left.”

 

“What were you hoping he would say?”

 

“I didn’t really think about that.”

 

“Did it hurt your feelings that he questioned it?”

 

“No. I mean why shouldn’t he question it. I’m not exactly the writing type.”

“That’s not entirely true.”

 

“I wrote in high school. That’s all.”

 

“What would you say if Sam told you that he loved to write?”

 

“He did like to write. I guess he had a great English teacher once.”

 

“And do you think that’s stupid?”

 

“No. Of course not.”

 

“But it’s stupid that you liked to write?”

 

“No. I didn’t say that.” He sighed and shifted in his seat. “Look, Sam and I are different when it comes to that.”

 

“Comes to what?”

 

He felt a tinge of irritation. There were still times when the string of questions would annoy him. “The school stuff.” He glanced down. “And being smart.”

 

“Dean, you-”

 

He held his hand up. “I know. I know. I’m smart too. But I’m not Sam smart. I couldn’t get into Stanford.”

 

“You don’t know that.”

 

He scoffed. “Come on.”

 

“Dean, you don’t know that.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. But it’s still different.”

 

“Then why did you tell him?”

 

“It just happened. I mean I had this letter to him that’s like four pages and...it was like the words just flew. I didn’t even question it while it was happening.” He looked down. “That’s the way it was when I used to write.” He looked up. “I mean, I didn’t write him a poem or anything stupid like that. And I’m sure it’s poorly written and it’s not really fluffy, but it just happened so effortlessly.” 

 

“That’s a really good thing.”

 

“I mean if I were to give him that letter I know that he-” He shook his head. 

 

She leaned forward. “That he would what?”

 

“That it might hurt him. I talked a lot about our childhood and things I wished and...but for some reason I wanted him to see it.”

 

“You wanted to be honest with him.

 

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “And I guess I thought if I told him I liked to write beforehand it would somehow give some validity to it. Make it worth his time.”

 

“And you don’t think it would be without that?”

 

“I guess not.”

 

“So, when Sam didn’t immediately acknowledge that you liked to write it threw that hope out the window?”

 

He shrugged and looked toward the window. “I just wanted him to think I was smart like him. That I had things I was good at that didn’t have anything to do with our job or looking out for him.” Dean blinked. “I wanted him to be impressed. That he always knew I was smarter than I let on.” He looked at her. “That he’d want to read something I wrote.”

 

“And then you could give him the letter?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Just because Sam didn’t say all of that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think that.”

 

He sighed. “I don’t know.”

 

She held the letter up. “I will tell you that no matter what you say in this letter. No matter if there might be a punctuation letter or one misspelled word. No matter what. I feel honored to be able to read it.”

 

He smiled in spite of himself and tried to ignore the blush creeping up his neck. “No matter how cruel it may be?”

 

“You’re not a cruel man, Dean.”

 

He glanced down at his hands. “I really did love writing.” He pressed his fingers together. “I really did.”

 

“Maybe you should try to write again, Dean. Maybe writing these letters is a start.”

 

He rubbed his neck. “I don’t know if I could do that.”

 

She gestured to the letter. “You didn’t think you could do this either.”

 

He smiled and glanced toward the window. He felt a flutter of something that could be described as hope inside. Maybe. Maybe just maybe he could. 

  
  



	6. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's letter to Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted chapter five (Taking Chances) at the same time, so please try and read that chapter first. :)
> 
> So, I actually wrote the letter before chapter five and was going to include it in that therapy session, but then decided it needed it's own chapter. Hope everyone likes it. It was an emotional journey to write.

_ This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done and, given our life, that’s saying a lot. Hopefully you can make it through this letter without laughing too much at how ridiculous it is. Who I am kidding, I’ll probably never get up the courage to give it to you. We just got back from that hunt with Donna and that amazing pie place. Yes, I’m still not over that pie. And you just told me how proud you are of me. I shouldn’t have blown it off, but I just don’t know how much of that praise I deserve. There are times I look in the mirror and hardly recognize the face that stares back at me. There was a time when all my stupid insecurity bullshit was all because of dad. Now it’s actually because of me. Because of the things I’ve done. The things I’ve said and the people I’ve hurt along the way.  Okay, this is already getting a little too deep. Not sure I can do too much of that without rolling my eyes to the back of my head.  _

 

_ Do you remember that time when you were about ten and dad had this job just outside of L.A.? He had finished up earlier than expected and we actually got to spend a whole day in L.A. We walked the Hollywood Walk of Fame and took our pictures in front of the handprints. And then dad found a way to sneak us into the Whiskey, just for a look. It was like a real family vacation. Dad’s next job didn’t matter. Where we were going to sleep the next night didn’t matter. It was all about soaking up the sights and sounds. I know we never made it to the beach, but it was still perfect. One of the best times in my life. I know, random, but I’ve been thinking a lot about our childhood lately. Blame it on the therapy.  _

 

_ I know how you feel about dad. I do. I get it. He never should’ve fought you about school. He should’ve pushed you to go. Pushed you to find your own way. I should’ve too. But I want you to know that we were both so damn proud of you. You found a brief way out, without obsessing about getting back in. I will always envy that. And I’m sorry for the role that I may have played in getting you back into this life on the road. You deserved better than that. We all did.   _

 

_ You wanna know a secret? I was so jealous of you as a child. I know that probably earned a chuckle and an eye roll, but it’s the truth. You were always so brave and independent. Way more than I ever was. You were always asking questions and never just going blindly with whatever dad and I said. I wish I could’ve stood up to him the way you did. Now, what I’m about to say I don’t want you to take it the wrong way or thing that I blame you for anything. You were a kid. You had no say in what was going on or how dad would react to losing mom. See, you missed out on the before mom’s death time in our lives. I’ve never asked you what your earliest childhood memory is, but I’m sure that it’s safe to say that it has nothing to do with a home or mom or all of us being happy. And I hate that you can’t have that memory. That you can’t smell what mom’s apple pie smelled like. That you will never hear her singing you to sleep.  _

 

_ Some of my earliest memories are filled with mom’s laugh. She had the best laugh in the world and she was very easily amused. I would tell her the silliest jokes and she would genuinely laugh, not like that laugh that some adults use to appease kids. And man she loved to read, Sammy. She would read me at least two stories before bedtime, but usually around four. We would go on adventures in those stories. Magical places filled with things that were wonderful and beautiful. Nothing too scary. _

 

_ She also loved music. No one in our family loved music more than mom. She must have played The White album over a hundred times for me. She also loved Led Zeppelin and The Who. But she also liked some old school country, like Johnny Cash or Dolly Parton. And jazz. I always knew there was a delicious pie in my future when I would hear some John Coltrane playing. She loved it all and she made sure that I knew what music was. I should really give her more credit for my love of music. I mean dad loved music too, but mom lived and breathed it. I think it was her escape when she was younger. When she lived a life much like ours.  _

 

_ And mom loved dad. She really did. They had fights, lots of fights and sometimes dad drank way too much. But there was always this deep love underneath it all. I mean I will admit that there were times I would worry when dad would be at the garage late or when I would wake up in the middle of the night and find dad sleeping in a chair in the living room. But then there would be the times I would hear them laughing together or there were even a couple of times I caught them dancing. Not many people get that kind of love and I think losing that is what really broke dad. And watching dad slip away and turn into this...this soldier is what turned my world upside down. Maybe dad was that way in Vietnam. Maybe he had to be that way to survive. But I had known the other dad. The bad joke telling dad. The cursing when he stubbed his toe dad. The dad who was just starting to teach me to throw a ball. That was the dad I lost and the dad you never knew. And it breaks my heart to think about it. Sometimes I actually envy you for not remembering this other life we briefly had. For not knowing that there was a time when we were just a happy suburban family in Lawrence.  _

 

_ When we went on the road after mom died I was so confused. I was just a kid and you were learning to walk, run, talk. Dad’s obsessions with the job didn’t start right away. There were a few months in there where it was just tears and dad trying to figure out how to raise two boys by himself. But then that all changed and I lost my dad to his job and you lost any hope of having even a fraction of normalcy. When it first started I thought it was punishment for mom dying. Like somehow it was my fault because dad had to carry us both out of the fire. Maybe if I had been able to take you, he could have saved her. I know that’s ridiculous. I do. But sometimes I still blame myself for her loss. I blame myself for not being stronger for dad. I know there is nothing I could’ve done, but it still haunts me.  _

 

_ The new dad that came after mom died did teach me things. That dad taught me how to change your diaper and how to heat up milk for you. He taught me how to cut up your food when you could eat solids. He taught me how to tie your shoes and how to check if you had a fever. He taught me how to be a parent. And I thought this was my punishment at first and then later my duty. Dad was training me to be a soldier too. Cook for you and learn the proper way to hold a gun. I tried to give you some days of normalcy. Tried to protect you from the truth of our lives. But you always had those questions. Always wanted to know more. And I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you for longer.  _

 

_ I have another confession to make. I’m so damn angry, Sam. I’m angry at dad and I’m even angry at mom. And I’m so sorry, but I’m also angry at you and that’s not fair. I know. It’s not your fault, I know that. The thing is I never got to be protected from our life while we lived it. I know I got mom for a few years and got apple pies and the whole nine yards. But then I was a soldier and a parent all before the age of ten. I never got school dances or my own room. I never got encouraged to stay in school. Dad didn’t even know I was going to get my GED and when I did get it and I told him he said nothing. Not one word. Not even congratulations. He just shrugged and told me about our next job. I know dad wasn’t a cruel man by nature, but that hurt worse than anything else he had done to me.  _

 

_ I wish we had a way to go back and save our mom. We could go back and have family dinners. Real Christmases and Thanksgivings. Real, normal family time that you could remember. I wish we could both have diplomas and wives and children. We deserve that.  _

 

_ I hate myself for saying this, but sometimes I wonder if our lives would’ve been more like that if dad had died instead of mom. I wonder if she would’ve ensured that we lived a normal life, or as close to normal as possible. Do you ever think about that? I mean she probably would’ve encouraged you to go to school. She wouldn’t have freaked out about you leaving. At least I don’t think she would’ve. And you could’ve escaped it all for good.  _

 

_ There’s something I have to ask you, Sam. Do you still think about leaving? I mean I know you’ve said that you like what we do now, but I worry sometimes that that’s not the truth. That something someday will make you disappear for good. Maybe I should hope for that something to happen. If I was a good brother. Good father. I would wish that happiness for you. And it’s not that I don’t want you to be happy. Because that’s all I want. It’s just that I...I don’t want to feel like I’m the reason you’re unhappy. I already feel that with dad and it kills me to think that I’m responsible for you being unhappy as well. It keeps me up at night. It makes me want to drink.  _

 

_ I know it’s not right to lay that on you, but I just need to know why you ever wanted to leave. I know I wasn’t a good substitute parent at all times, but I tried my hardest. I gave up everything for this family and I need you to know, even though it scares me, I don’t regret doing it. I don’t. You needed someone to be there for you and dad wasn’t able to do it. Not fully. But I needed my dad and I didn’t have him. I needed my mom and I didn’t have her. I was so alone. I know how ridiculous that sounds. I do. But I always felt so alone. I still do sometimes. Like I’m in this room filled with people who don’t really see me or hear me. Sometimes I’m screaming and everyone turns their backs.  _

 

_ And I’m not trying to say that you haven’t been there for me, because you really have. You’ve had my back for so long now and I know I haven’t always been great and I’ve made more mistakes than I care to remember. But I’m trying. I need you to know that. And I’m going to make more mistakes along the way. I’m going to fall down and I’ll need a hand to help me stand again.  _

 

_ I want to be okay for you and Cas and for our parents, but sometimes I feel like every misstep I make is taking me further away from that goal. Sometimes I feel like if I don’t do it perfectly, without a single wrong turn, you will leave me. I know you think that I can’t be alone, and there is more truth to that than I care to admit, but really what I need is just a friend. A brother. An equal. Someone who can stand to see me fall and help me rise again. Someone who can acknowledge my accomplishments, while forgiving my missteps.  _

 

_ I’ve been trying for so long to be this perfect soldier and I just can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to be dad. I really don’t. Wow, what an odd feeling to see those words. For so long I held him up as this hero. This man that I could never even come close to. But now I’m starting to come clean about the broken man underneath. And I’m trying to learn to forgive that man. Trying to learn to forgive the world for what it took from us. Trying to forgive God for abandoning us. And I’m trying like hell to forgive myself.  I need to accept that I’m going to say things and do things I shouldn’t. I’m going to be consumed with anger sometimes. But I am getting better. I am trying to be better.  _

 

_ I hope you can forgive me for the anger I may show you. For the blame I may put on you. For some of the words in this letter.  _

 

_ Remember that time I said I was proud of us? I meant that. We’re in our thirties. Our thirties. You know how amazing it is that we have survived that long? We have helped people in ways others can’t even dream of. Yes, we’ve messed up and made dozens of mistakes along the way, but we are still here. We’re here and I think that is something to be proud of.  _

 

_ I’m so proud to be your brother. And I know mom would be proud of you too. I do. She loved you Sam. She was a great mom and we are her great kids.  _

 

_ We still have many years left in us and I believe we can make it to the finish line with smiles on our face. That’s something I couldn’t have said a year ago.  _

 

_ Thank you for being my brother. _

  
  


_ Dean _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. <3


	7. Having Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean decides whether or not to give the letter to Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this. I lay the blame on The Cubs and that amazing World Series. Anyway, thanks again to everyone who has read this so far and left so many amazing comments. I can't even tell you how much it has meant to me. <3 Not too much in the way of trigger warnings here. Some little talk about anxiety and a very brief mention of a suicide note. I hope you enjoy.

Dean sat in the waiting area, wringing his hands. It had been two and a half weeks since he had given the letter to Laura. He had had to reschedule due to an unforeseen vamp nest they had to take out a week ago and Dean’s anxiety had been growing with every passing day. He had even taken that stupid medication he had been prescribed. Dean kept imagining Laura hovering over the letter, red pen in hand, making correction after correction. Worse were the times he imagined her laughing as she read it or rolling her eyes. 

 

He glanced up at the clock; still ten minutes to go. He flipped through a  _ Better Homes and Gardens  _ magazine that must have been about five years old. He had no idea what any of the pages said, he just kept glancing up at the clock, watching the seconds go by. Those last ten minutes were slow as molasses. 

 

He reached the end of the magazine and glanced at the clock; three minutes late. He set the magazine down and stared at Laura’s office door. He tried to remind himself that she was with another patient. Maybe she had lost track of time.  _ She always seemed to end exactly on the hour when they met. _ He shook his head and glanced over at the stack of old magazines. He picked up a _ House Beautiful  _  magazine. Man, she really had an obsession with this house decor junk. He absently flipped through, while keeping an eye glued to her door. 

 

Seven minutes late. Dean could feel anger creeping in.  _ Why was this other person’s time more valuable? Did they pay for an extra hour? Was she getting back at him for rescheduling? Was the letter really that awful? _ His right leg start bouncing and he felt his heart rate racing. His throat became dry and he prayed he wasn’t about to get an anxiety attack.

 

Ten minutes late. He stood up and stood in front of her office door. He was about to knock, when he thought better of it. He drew his arm back and went back to the chair. He sat down and glanced at the door. He tried to take several deep breaths. Tried to ignore the pit in his stomach. He glanced at the clock, seconds kept passing by. 

 

Twelve minutes late. He decided he would give her three more minutes and then that was it. He would just leave. She had a lot of nerve keeping him waiting like this. He paid her. She kind of worked for him. Plus, why would she think it was a good idea to keep her patients waiting like this? People who come here have some sort of mental problem. Not a good idea to keep those kinds waiting.

 

Fourteen minutes late. One more minute till he would leave. He checked his pocket to make sure his keys were readily available. He stared at the clock, counting down the seconds till he could storm out. Maybe he would leave a note. Something simple like,  _ Dean was here. _ She would feel so guilty that she’d give him free therapy for a month. Maybe two. The minute came up.

 

Fifteen minutes. Dean stood and went to leave, his hand on the knob. He froze. Maybe something else happened. Maybe someone came here to hurt her. Get to him somehow. It wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe he should knock on her door, make sure she was okay. He hadn’t really heard much in the way of noise coming from her office in awhile. Maybe some muffled voices. Maybe she was trying to cry for help. How would he feel if he were to just leave here without knowing if she was okay? 

 

Dean turned from the door and walked over to her office door. He was about to knock, when it flew open and a young woman, head down, plowed right into him. “Shit.” Dean took a step backwards and caught the woman before she fell. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

 

She yanked her arms away from him, straightened herself up and glanced up at him. Her eyes were red from crying and she looked absolutely lost. She quickly looked away and ran towards the door, waving a goodbye to Laura. 

 

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Laura. “Sorry about that.”

 

“It’s okay. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

 

“Only a few minutes late.” He lied.

 

She motioned him inside. “Take a seat, Dean. I’ll be right back.” She gave him a quick smile and before he could say anything she was gone. 

 

He sat down and shook his head. Unbelievable. She makes him wait and then leaves. He tried to calm himself down. That last patient seemed really upset. Maybe she was going to go check on her. That was her job after all. 

 

He looked over at the tiny fridge in the corner, wanting to grab himself a water. But he felt weird doing that. He stared at the door, waiting for her to return. 

 

After a couple of minutes she came back. “Sorry about that.” He shrugged and she sat down. “Do you want a water?”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

She grabbed him a water and handed it to him. He held it, without opening it. Ignoring his thirst for the moment. “I really am sorry I kept you waiting like that, Dean.”

 

He motioned toward the door. “She okay?”

 

“I can’t really discuss my other patients.”

 

He looked down and under his breath said, “Not like I wanted a play by play.”

 

She furrowed her brow. “You seem upset.”

 

He looked up at her and crossed his arms. “I’m fine. I just don’t know why you can’t just tell me if she’s okay. Wanted to make sure I didn’t hurt her.”

 

“I value my patient’s privacy, Dean.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Fine. Whatever.”

 

She stared at him for a second. “You didn’t hurt her. I promise.” He nodded and leaned back. She cocked her head to the side. “Now, what else is bothering you?”

 

“Nothing, just a long day I guess.” He gave her a quick smile. 

 

“Are you sure that’s all it is?”

 

“Yep.” He gestured toward her. “Now can we get on with the check in?”

 

She looked at him for a second longer before relenting. She grabbed her notebook and went through the check in. “Any suicidal thoughts?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Any thoughts of harming yourself or anyone else?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“How have you been since we last met?”

 

“Fine. Busy.”

 

She glanced down at her notes. “How was the job you had to go to?” No mention of Sam’s letter. Maybe she forgot about it. 

 

He sighed. “Fine. Easy.”

 

“That’s good.” She crossed her legs. “Anything come up since we last met?”

 

He scoffed. She really had forgotten. “Nothing new. Same old. Same old.”

 

She closed the notebook and leaned forward. “Dean, you seem anxious.”

 

“I’m fine. I mean it would’ve been nice if you could have let me know that your last patient was running over.”

 

She nodded. “I apologize. Sometimes things come up in therapy that cause a session to run over.”

 

“We always end right on the hour.” 

 

“Does that bother you?”

 

“It does when we start late.”

 

“That’s fair.”

 

“Good. So then I get an extra fifteen, no seventeen, minutes? You did do that the last time we started late.”

 

“I do have a patient after you, but-”

 

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”

 

“We can make sure that on the next session we have an extra fifteen-”

 

“Seventeen.” What the hell was he doing.? He just chalked it up to wanting to get his money’s worth. 

 

She smiled. “Seventeen minutes.”

 

“Thank you.”  

 

“But Dean I want you to know if there is ever anything that comes up toward the end of the session and you feel like you need another minute, just say something. I won’t let you leave if you don’t feel safe.” He swallowed. The last patient didn’t feel safe and he was over here angry. He felt a wave of guilt, but pushed it off and just nodded. She opened the notebook back up and looked over her notes. “How are things with Sam?”

 

So, she at least remembered his name. “They’re okay. Thankfully he stopped asking me about the writing thing.”  _ Kind of like you have _ , he thought. 

 

“And you are glad he hasn’t?”

 

“Yes. I just said I was.” She looked at him for a minute, studying his face. He quickly turned toward the window. “He probably forgot about it anyway.

He could feel her eyes on him and he shifted in his seat. Thankfully after another few seconds, she reached behind her and opened her desk drawer. “I read the letter, Dean.” He turned to look at her, the letter now sitting neatly folded in her lap. 

 

He swallowed. “Yeah?”

 

“It’s really good, Dean.”

 

“Probably filled with errors.”

 

She leaned forward. “Dean, it’s really good.”

 

He swallowed. “Thanks.”

 

She handed it back to him. “You should be very proud.”

 

He took it and opened it up, still expecting to see red correction marks. Nothing. He folded it back up and put it into his pocket. “Do you...do you think I should show it to Sammy?”

 

She leaned back. “I think he would really love it.”

 

“But I wasn’t entirely nice.”

 

She smiled. “Yes you were.” He opened the bottle of water and took a sip. “I really do think he’ll like it.” He gave her a quick smile, but looked down. “But it’s your decision and the letter is for you.”

 

“I’m scared.”

 

“I know.”

 

“He could hate it. He could hate me.”

 

“I really don’t think that will happen.”

 

“But it could happen, right?”

 

“It could, I suppose. But that wouldn’t be your fault, Dean. You can’t control the way people respond to things.”

 

“I just don’t want him to...I don’t want him to think that everything...that my life is his fault.”

 

“I really don’t think he will, but if he does it still wouldn’t be your fault and you still should be proud of yourself for writing the letter.”

 

He blinked and glanced toward the window. “Maybe...maybe we could…” He looked back at her, placing his hands in his lap. “Maybe after he could come...we could do another group session.” 

 

She smiled. “I think that would be an excellent idea. And we’ll have those extra minutes for you and I to talk before or after.”

 

“Okay. He may say no, so…”

 

“It’ll be okay, Dean. I’ll be here even if he isn’t. And if I’m going to be late, I’ll let you know.”

 

“Okay.” He gave her a quick smile and finished the water. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

 

“Just let me know.”

 

“I will.”

 

She glanced back down at her notebook. “I know you were upset that I kept you waiting-”

 

He held his hand up. “I’m over that now.”

 

“Are you always on time for things?”

 

“I try to be. Sometimes I can run late or a job goes over.”

 

“But it’s important to you that people keep to a schedule?”

 

He sighed. “Look, I said I was fine, okay.”

 

“That may be true, but I saw how upset you were.”

 

“Look, I just think people should be there when they are going to be. That’s all.”

 

“And what does it mean if they aren’t?”

 

“That they need a watch. I don’t know.”

 

“I mean what does it mean it to you?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“How does it make you feel about yourself?”

 

He crossed his arms and shrugged. “Annoyed. I mean annoyed at them.”

 

“But that’s not about you.”

 

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

 

“Do you take it personally when people don’t show up or are late?”

 

“Sometimes.” He tugged on his shirt. 

 

“Have people done that a lot?”

 

He let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, you could say that.”

 

“And how does that make you feel about yourself.”

 

He rubbed his neck. “Like...like I’m not worth it. Like my feelings don’t matter.” He let out a nervous laugh and shook his head. “That sounds so stupid.”

 

“No it doesn’t. It makes sense.”

 

“So, you think that that’s what they’re thinking?”

 

“No. No, not at all. I just mean it makes sense that you would worry about that.”

 

“I just don’t get why people...I don’t get why people leave. Or run.”

 

“Have you ever left?”

 

“Once.”  _ But I was a demon then. Eyes were black.  _

 

“And how did that feel?”

 

He chewed on his bottom lip and shifted in his seat. “I..I wasn’t really myself so-” He looked down at his hands. “But I hate myself for it. I bailed and it was wrong.”

 

“Was there any part of it you liked?”

 

God, he didn’t want to talk about this. “Some parts, but like I said I wasn’t myself.”

 

“What parts did you like?”

He looked away. “The freedom. I wasn’t tied to anyone or anything. Only thing that mattered was myself and what I wanted.”

 

“That must have felt like a huge weight was lifted.”

 

He shook his head. “Yeah, but later, when I was myself, I felt like the biggest failure ever.”

 

“Do you think that other people that have left have felt that way?”

 

“The freedom? Yes. The guil? I don’t know.”

 

“Do you think you deserve to be loved?”

 

He felt an instant tightening in his chest and his throat instantly went dry. “I...I haven’t ever thought about that.”

 

“Dean, someone leaving or being late doesn’t have to do with you.”   
  


“You don’t know that.”

 

“Okay. You’re right. I don’t. But generally when people do that it’s because of their own stuff.”

 

“So, I shouldn’t be upset about it?”

 

“That’s not what I’m saying. You have every right to be upset about it. What I’m trying to say is that you are not to blame.”

 

He blinked. “I don’t know. I’m not always the easiest person to be around.”

 

“No one’s perfect.” He shrugged. “And you deserve to be loved. You deserve to be happy.” His lower lip trembled and he quickly looked away. “You should be proud of yourself for how far you have come and for what you have survived, like you said in the letter.”

 

He looked back at her. “And you really think I should give it to Sam?”

 

“I think you should do whatever will feel right to you.”

 

“Yeah. Okay.” He gave her a small smile and looked down at his hands. He had no idea what he was gonna do

 

* * *

 

Dean arrived back at the bunker, his nerves frayed and his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so tight. The letter was on the passenger seat and Dean thought that seemed like the right spot for it. He turned off the engine and stared at the letter. Could he really give it to Sam? What would that even look like? He tried to recall any other notes they may have left for each other and he instantly was reminded of the note he left when he was a demon. And then there was the letter he wrote when he had decided he was going to give in to Michael. His suicide note, for lack of a better word. He quickly looked away and tried to shake those memories from his head. 

 

After a few more minutes, he took the key out of the ignition and headed for the bunker, the letter still sitting on the passenger seat. When he reached the door, he turned. He could still see the letter through the car window. He took a deep breath and willed himself to walk back to the car. He stopped at the passenger side door, his hand hovering over the door handle. “This is stupid.” He yanked the door open and grabbed the letter, shoving it into his back pocket. 

 

Sam and Cas were sitting in the library, both with a book in front of them. They looked up when they saw him come in. Cas smiled and set his book down. “How was your session, Dean?”

 

He swallowed and tried not to let his nerves get the best of him. “It was great.” Sam smiled at him and Dean patted his back pocket, making sure the letter was still there. He clasped his hands together. “Well, I’m gonna go take a shower.”

 

They both gave him the same confused look, but then shook it off and went back to their books. Dean stood in the doorway for a second longer, watching them and then he turned and nearly jogged down the hallway. 

 

Once he was safely inside his room, he pulled the letter out and quickly set it down on the desk like it burned to hold it. He looked down on it, his hands shaking. He tried again to remind himself that it was just a letter and Sam never really had to see it. He glanced back at the door, making sure it was really shut. He steadied himself and picked up the letter again. He would read it. Maybe take the words in and maybe see if it really was safe to show Sam. See if it would make him run for the door. 

 

Dean carefully unfolded the letter, sunk down into the chair and began to read. 

 

* * *

 

He read it and re-read it. Over and over. Looking at every word and trying to recall even writing it. Everything was the truth, he knew that, but it seemed so bare. So naked just sitting there on the page. He still couldn’t believe he let Laura read it. He couldn’t even believe he wrote it. His eyes were red from tears shed and unshed. 

 

Without even thinking, he reached into the desk looking for an envelope. He folded the letter up again, making sure that it was as neat as possible, and placed it inside an envelope. He sealed it and set it down in front of him. His hands were shaking, but he managed to write the one word across the envelope; Sam. 

 

* * *

 

Dean stood in the doorway of the kitchen, the envelope in his hand. Sam was busy making coffee, his back to the doorway. Dean smiled and put the letter inside his bathrobe pocket. “Morning.”

 

Sam turned and smiled. “Morning.”

 

Dean busied himself with making breakfast for himself and Sam. They tucked themselves into their plates of bacon, eggs, and black coffee. They were silent for the most part, just little small talk occasionally. Every once in awhile Dean would check his pocket, making sure the letter was still there. 

 

Sam cleaned up and Dean watched him, his left hand on the letter. He could do this. He had managed to write Sam’s name on the envelope. That had to mean something. He pulled the letter out and held in front of him. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Sam?”

 

Sam wiped his hands off on a dishtowel and turned around. “Yeah.”

 

_ You can do this, Dean _ . He shut his eyes, took a deep breath and then looked up at Sam. “I...um...I…” He looked down at the letter in his hands and Sam’s eyes followed his. “I wrote you something.” He kept his eyes down on the letter, not wanting to look at Sam’s expression. “It’s just a letter that...it’s part of therapy and...it’s silly really, but…” His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. He hadn’t even noticed that Sam had walked over to the table. “You don’t have to read it and I understand if-” He jumped a bit when he felt the table shift when Sam sat down. He glanced up and then quickly looked back down. He set the letter down and gave it a little push toward Sam. “Anyway, you can take it or not. It’s fine.”

 

Sam’s hand reached out and picked it up. Dean risked a look his way and saw Sam just staring at the envelope. Shit. He reached his hand out. “Forget it. I’m sorry.” Sam quickly pulled the letter away and smiled, but Dean couldn’t help but see a little bit of fear in Sam’s eyes. 

 

“Thank you, Dean.”

 

Dean relaxed his shoulders and let out the breath he was holding and tried to add some levity to the situation. “Don’t thank me yet. Wait till you see all the grammatical errors.” 

 

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Sam opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. Dean held his hand out. 

 

“Wait!” Sam looked at him and knitted his brow. “It’s just...I...I’m gonna go get dressed while you-” He gestured toward the letter. “While you read...read that.”

 

“Okay.” Sam set the letter down on the table and Dean gave him a quick smile, turning to leave. “Dean.”

 

He stopped in the doorway and looked at Sam. “Yeah?”

 

Sam put his hand on the letter. “Thank you.”

 

Dean gave him a quick smile and bolted. 

 

* * *

 

It had been a little over two hours since Dean had given the letter to Sam. He had taken a shower, reorganized his albums and washed Baby. And he still hadn’t seen Sam. He did know that he had left the kitchen and had been locked away in his bedroom. He shouldn’t have given him that letter. It was a mistake. Sam was probably packing his things right now. He had blown it. 

 

Dean was pacing in the library trying to decide if he should knock on Sam’s door or just get out of there, try and clear his head. Maybe give Sam some space. He had grabbed his keys and was about to head out the door, when Sam walked in. He froze, trying to read Sam’s face. His eyes were red and Dean knew he had been crying. He wanted to go back and take the letter away. Rip it up or burn it. He took a step toward Sam. “Look, Sam, about what I-”

 

Sam walked toward Dean and pulled him into a hug. Dean stood there frozen for a minute before returning the hug. After a minute, Sam pulled away and took a step back. He held up the letter, it was slightly wrinkled and Dean could tell Sam had read it more than once. “This...this was...I don’t really know what to say.”

 

“It’s okay. And if you hated it or if you’re pissed, I totally-”

 

“I’m not pissed, Dean and I didn’t hate it. ”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, really.” Sam swallowed and looked down at the letter. “I’m so proud of you, Dean.”

 

Dean looked at him, his mouth slightly open. “You are?”

 

“Yeah. It took a lot of courage to write this.” He sat down and Dean took a seat across from him. “I want you to know that I...I’m sorry if I made you feel like you...like I wasn’t proud of you or there for you.” Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Sam continued. “I think we should talk about what you said.” Dean leaned back, fear gripping him. Sam held his hand up. “It’s not a bad thing, Dean. I just think we should talk about it”

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

“Okay. So, I’ll make some coffee.” Sam made a move to get up.

 

“Wait, Sam.” Sam stopped and looked back at Dean. “Um...I don’t think we should talk now.”

 

“Dean, I need to talk to you about this.”

 

“I know. I do. I just-” He let out a breath and looked down.

 

“What?”

 

“Okay, well I was talking to my therapist about this and…” Dean licked his lips and looked down at his lap. “She suggested that maybe we should…” He let out a breath and looked up. “Maybe we should do another group therapy thing.” Sam looked at him for a moment, head cocked. Dean looked away. “Forget it. We can talk now. That’s fine. Whatever works best for-”

 

“I think it’s a great idea.” 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. So, when would do this?”

 

“Um...yeah. Okay. I’m supposed to see her next week and if you want to we can do that then.” He swallowed. “I mean if that’s fine with you.”

 

“Yeah, I think that would be great.”

 

“Great.” They sat in silence and Dean tried not to let fear overtake him. He tried to have faith that everything would be okay. 

  
  



	8. The First of Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam discuss the letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long delay. The election just sucked all creativity from me for a bit and then it was a bit to painful to revisit this story at first. But I do believe art is healing and as clunky as this chapter may be, it did a little bit of that for me. Just a little other personal note here, my therapist recently told me that she thinks writing this series is excellent therapy. That's when I knew I had truly found a great therapist. Just know there are good ones out there. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the conclusion to this part of the series. Thank you for taking the time to read it. <3

Sam and Dean’s therapy session was in two days. Two days. Forty-eight hours. Eighty-six thousand and four hundred seconds. Dean’s stomach had been in a constant knots. Laura had been thrilled to learn that it would be a group session and had tried to reassure him that this was a good thing. Dean tried to hear her words. Tried to let them sink in, but the knots in his stomach seemed to hold more power. Two days.

 

Sam showed no signs of nervousness. In fact he seemed overly relaxed. Dean wasn’t sure how to take that. He supposed that he should be happy, grateful even. At least Sam wasn’t pestering him to talk about the letter. At least he seemed rather content with the fact that they wouldn’t even be discussing it until the session. In fact, it almost seemed like Sam had forgotten the letter even existed. 

 

The day before was pretty uneventful. They watched some mindless shows streaming on Netflix. Ate breakfast, lunch and dinner. Did some laundry and never once mentioned what the next day would hold. It all felt too...too calm somehow. 

 

Dean lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, his stomach in knots and his mind racing. He tried to imagine how the session might go. What might be said. What he would even say. Would Sam be the same laid back person he had been recently or would he be more combative? Would Dean be able to answer any questions Sam might have? Would he even be able to speak for himself? Would Laura have his back or just sit there silently? And then the last thought entered his brain. A thought he had been trying to ignore. What if Sam really wasn’t going to go? What if Sam was trying to forget the letter existed? What if he was planning to run without Dean knowing?

 

Dean shot up in bed. He glanced over at the clock; 3:30. He threw the covers off and made his way down the hall toward Sam’s room. He pressed his ear to the closed door, trying to hear anything. The silence was almost deafening. He swallowed and placed his hand on the door knob. He slowly turned the knob and peeked inside. Sam was lying on his side, back to the door, sleeping. Dean looked around the room, no bags were packed, no shoes or clothes strategic placed for a quick getaway. He let out a breath and closed the door. 

 

Dean plopped down on his bed and tried to let relief wash over him, but there were the knots in his stomach. There was the fear in his head. There were the racing thoughts haunting him. 

 

* * *

 

There appointment was at eleven that morning. It was now eight. Dean was in the kitchen downing his fifth cup of coffee. He hadn’t seen Sam yet, but he did hear him get up earlier. Dean tried to stop himself from glancing toward the kitchen door every couple of minutes, but he always felt his eyes drifting there. 

 

Dean’s hands were shaking and he figured he should probably not go for that sixth cup of coffee. He was about to dump the cup in the sink when Cas came in. “Good morning, Dean.”

 

Dean turned around, cup still in hand, and gave Cas a quick smile. “Morning, Cas.”

 

Cas cocked his head to the side and gave Dean that look that was usually followed by some question that didn’t wasn’t sure he wanted to answer. But instead he just smiled and grabbed a cup of coffee and about five packets of sugar. He sat down at the table and took a sip, grimacing a bit. Dean let out a little laugh, he always wondered why Cas kept drinking it even when it seemed like he hated it, but he supposed Cas just was trying to find a way to fit in with this crazy life. Dean could relate. 

 

“You and Sam have a therapy session today, right?”

 

Dean decided he could live with the shakes and poured himself another cup of coffee. “Yep. In a few hours.” He sat down across from Cas. 

 

“He’s very proud of you, Dean.”

 

“Yeah. I bet.”

 

Cas continued. “Last night, after you went to bed. He told me how proud he is to see how far you’ve come.” Dean looked down at his coffee cup and smiled. “He’s not going to leave, Dean.”

 

Dean looked up at that, his mouth slightly ajar. He quickly shut it and shrugged. “I know.” And he tried to believe those words. 

 

Cas shook his head and cocked his head. “He hasn’t thought about leaving in a long time. Not even once.” Dean swallowed and looked away. “He likes being a hunter.”

 

Dean glanced at the clock, trying to avoid this. “I know, Cas. We’ve already talked about that.”

 

“I’m not leaving either. Even if Heaven wanted me back. I’m a hunter too.” Cas managed to sit a little straighter at that last statement and Dean couldn’t help but smile at how proud he seemed to be. 

 

Dean smiled. “Cas, you’ve really...I don’t know what Sam and I would do without you. You’ve become quite the skillful hunter.”

 

The look of pride on Cas’ face grew. “Thank you, Dean.” Cas grabbed another packet of sugar and stirred into the cup of coffee. 

 

“You know, Cas, we could start getting flavored coffee if you like. Maybe sweeter kinds.”

 

Cas smiled at him. “I think I’d like that.”

 

They sat in silence and Dean tried to let the reassurances from Cas sink in. Just a few more hours to go. 

 

* * *

 

Sam and Dean were sitting in the lobby waiting for Laura to finish up with her current client. They had gotten there five minutes early and Dean was regretting it. Laura called Dean in first, explaining to Sam that she wanted to spend a few minutes checking in with him. 

 

Dean sat down on Laura’s couch and tried to quell the nerves inside. “How are you doing, Dean?”

 

He swallowed and plastered on a smile. “Fine.”

 

She looked at him for a moment, probably deciding whether or not she should believe him. “It’s okay if you’re nervous.”

 

He scoffed. “Why would I be nervous?”

 

She ignored him. “And it’s understandable if you’re scared.”

 

“I’m not scared or nervous. I say bring it on.” 

 

“Your eyes have darted to my office door at least ten times since we started talking. I won’t tell Sam that you’re scared or nervous, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

He sighed and crossed his arms. “I’m not...look I just...he’s been so...so fine since the letter. Like relaxed and it just...okay, it scares me.”

 

“You’d rather he was upset.”

 

“Yes...I mean no. I just, I wish he wasn’t so...so okay with it.” Dean glanced away. “It’s like it didn’t even matter.”

 

“He’s here Dean. He came here to do this. That’s huge.”

 

He pursed his lips. “I guess.”

 

She leaned forward. “He could’ve refused to read the letter. He could’ve chosen to not acknowledge it or to refuse to do this. Just because he seems relaxed doesn’t mean it didn’t effect him.” 

 

He looked down at his hands. “He hugged me after he read it.”

 

“That’s good.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Why does that scare you?”

 

“Because I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

 

“I can’t promise you that this session will go perfectly. Can’t promise you that Sam will be happy the whole time or even relaxed. But I can promise you that I will be here. I will make sure you are safe.”   
  


“Thank you.”

 

“Can I bring Sam in now or do you need a minute?”

 

Dean took a deep breath and nodded. “You can let him in.” Laura nodded and walked toward the door. Dean steeled himself for what would come next. 

 

Sam walked in, smiling at Dean and took a seat next to him. “Can I get you any water, Sam?” 

 

“No thanks.”

 

Laura smiled and took a seat. She opened up her notebook and looked between them. “So, as you may recall Sam I am mainly here to moderate and make sure that everyone is okay. If anything gets too heavy or either of you need a break, you just say so and we will stop.”  Sam nodded. “Do you have any questions before we began?”

 

“No. I’m good.”

 

She glanced at Dean. “Dean?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Good. I would like to start by asking Sam how it felt to receive the letter from Dean?”

 

Sam cleared his throat, glanced at Dean and then looked back at Laura. “Um...a little surprising I guess.”

 

“How so?”

 

“I just never thought that...I mean writing a letter is...well, it’s not something Dean would normally do.”

 

“Were you at all nervous or scared to receive the letter?”

 

“A little, yeah. The last note I got from Dean was, well, it was a dark time.” Sam was keeping all his focus on Laura.

 

“How did you feel after you read it?”

 

Sam looked down at his hands and smiled. “Relieved that it wasn’t like that note and...sad.”

 

Dean knitted his brow. Sam had seemed so content. So okay. “What about it made you sad?”

 

“I never knew...I mean I guessed, but I never knew how much Dean really gave up for me. For my dad.” Sam glanced over at Dean and gave him a sad smile. “I’m sorry I never asked you about that, Dean.”

 

Dean swallowed and shifted in his seat. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

“Dean, how did it feel giving Sam that letter?”

 

“Fucking scary as hell.” He shook his head. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay, Dean.” Sam was staring at Dean, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at him. “What were you afraid of?”

 

“I’m not a very good writer, so I just...you know it probably was filled with mistakes and…”

 

She cocked her head. “So, you were worried about your grammar?”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

 

Sam shook his head. “Why do you still do that?”

 

Dean looked at him. “Do what?”

 

He shook his head and looked at Laura. “For the record, the letter was really well written.”

 

She smiled. “I know.”

 

Sam looked back at Dean. “So, are you going to tell me now what you were really scared of?”

 

Dean shut his eyes, trying not to get annoyed with Sam’s tone. With the judgment he felt there. “It was just scary okay.”

 

“Dean, you opened up so much in that letter. Why can’t you just tell-”

 

“Because I thought you would leave, all right. I thought you would read it and get pissed and leave.”

 

“What?”

 

“I try so hard to stay strong, you know. Try not to crack. Try not to show any slight imperfection.” Dean rubbed his head. “But sometimes I just...it just gets so hard.”

 

“I never asked you to do be perfect, Dean.”

 

“I know. But it’s just sometimes...I don’t know how to live up to who you are. I just want to be strong, since that’s the only thing I’m good at.”

 

“That’s not true. That letter was...you’re a really good writer. And you’re smart, Dean. Really smart.”

 

Dean laughed. “Not Stanford smart.”

 

Sam threw up his hands. “Ugh, there you go again.”

 

“What?”

 

“You either put a wall up or put yourself down. It’s so aggravating.”

 

Dean scoffed. “Kind of like how you always talk down to me.”

 

“I don’t talk down to you.”

 

He shook his head. “Yes, you do. All the goddamn time. First, I express emotions the wrong way and then next thing I’m not expressing them.”

 

“I never-”

 

“Or the look on your face when I said I used to write. You would’ve thought I said I was going to go away to become a figure skater.”

 

“I was just shocked.”

 

“Yeah, because I’m not as book smart, right?”

 

“No. That wasn’t it at all.” Sam turned toward Dean. “You never...you never give yourself credit for how smart you actually are. I mean when I was growing up you taught me so much.”

 

“Yeah, how to fight.”

 

“Not just that, Dean. You taught me how to be strong. How to be creative when the situation called for it.”

 

“So, I taught you to be a liar.”

 

“God!” Sam rubbed his face. “I’m trying to tell you that you taught me how to be a man. How to survive. How to have empathy, especially in situations when it was hard as hell to have any. You taught me to read. You read silly stories to me every night or sometimes you would just make some up.”

 

“I did?”

 

“You don’t remember?” Dean shook his head. “That makes me sad, because you know how you described mom in that letter? How she would take you on adventures to safe and magical places?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That’s what you did for me. You protected me for so long. You let me be a child when you couldn’t be. You were my hero. My idol.” Dean looked down at his hands. “You know I never would’ve had the courage to stand up for myself with dad without you.”

 

Dean looked at him. “What?”

 

“You encouraged me to be a strong. You gave me that strength.”

 

“But you always talk about how I could never stick up to him.”

 

“I know. I guess I always thought you were taking the brunt of him. The brunt of our life. I figured I owed it to you to stick up for us. Because someone had to.”

 

“But you left. You kept leaving.”

 

“That was...that was part of that strength.”

 

Dean looked away. “So it was my fault that you left.”

 

“No, Dean. It was all me and dad. It never had anything to do with you.” Sam shook his head. “Leaving you that time was the hardest thing I ever did. I was so damn scared.” Dean looked at him, mouth slightly agape. “I almost called you every night for the first six months I was there. I was worried that that strength I had was just some illusion. Something that I could only have with you there.”

 

“I didn’t know that.”

 

“I thought you’d laugh at me or I don’t know, be ashamed of me somehow.”

 

“I could never be ashamed of you, Sam.”

 

“And I could never be ashamed of  _ you _ , Dean.”

 

Dean looked down at his hands. “I’m not so sure of that.”

 

“Dean, you’ve come back from hell so many times before and you still have compassion for people. You still have faith in me.”

 

“I don’t know about that.”

 

“I do. You’re the last person that would ever give up on someone they care about. You give your heart and soul. I just wish...I just wish you would give the same care to yourself.”

 

Dean shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t…” He opened his eyes and glanced at Sam before looking away. “When I look in the mirror I just see all the times I’ve fucked up. All the times I’ve let you down. Dad down. Mom down.” He rubbed his brow. “It’s like this loop I play over and over in my head. This never ending film of all the mistakes I’ve made.”

 

Sam leaned forward. “Dean, we all make mistakes.”

 

“Yeah, but mine are just...too much.”

 

“You’re still a good person. You’ll always be a good person.”

 

He looked at Sam and gave him a quick smile. “I’m really sorry that I didn’t support you more when you tried to break free. I should have encouraged you more.”

“You were scared.”

 

“No excuse.”

 

Sam smiled. “Dean, I’m not mad at you for that anymore. I let that go a long time ago. I think you should too.” Dean looked down at the ground. 

 

Laura cleared her throat and Dean glanced up. “How does what Sam said make you feel, Dean?”

 

“Sad.”

 

Sam furrowed his brow and Laura tilted her head. “Why sad?”

 

“Because I just keep thinking how amazing Sam could’ve been if he had that chance to have a real life.” He looked at Sam. “Not that you aren’t amazing, but I just wish it could’ve been different.”

 

“I know. And I wish it could’ve been different for you too.”

 

“I don’t think that would’ve ever been possible. I think I was always sort of destined for this sort of thing.”

 

“You said you used to like to write.”

 

Dean waved his hand. “That was just a silly hobby.”

 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about it?”

 

“Because...I just thought you’d laugh.”

 

“Why would you think that?”

 

“Come on, Sammy, let’s be real here. I’m not smart like you.”

 

“The hell you aren’t.”

 

“Sam-”

 

“No.” Sam shook his head. “I want you to listen to me. You are one of the smartest people I know. You can get us out of a jam faster than anyone on this planet. You read more than you let on and you remember everything. Every little detail of every job we’ve been on. Every person we’ve met. And you’re funny as hell, although I may not always admit that, but you are.”

 

“That doesn’t take brains.”

 

“I think it does. And I’m sorry that I’ve never told you this before. I’m sorry I ever made you feel less than. You didn’t deserve that.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“No, it’s not. No one should ever be made to feel stupid. And I have never thought you were stupid.”

 

Dean looked down, a smile on his face. “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“Poetry.” Dean spoke just above a whisper.

 

“What?”

 

Dean took a deep breath and looked up. “Poetry. I used to write poetry.”

 

Sam leaned back and smiled. “Seriously?”

 

Dean shook his head and picked at some lint on his shirt. “I know. It’s stupid.”

 

“No. Not at all. I’m just a little surprised.” Sam smiled. “Can I read some?”

 

Dean scoffed. “You want to read my poetry?”

 

“Yeah, why not?”

 

“I don’t...I don’t really...I haven’t written any in forever.”

 

“Do you have any old ones?”

 

“Maybe.” He shook his head. “But they’re silly.”

 

“I doubt that.” Sam sighed. “Can you just think about it?”

 

“You really want to read them?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Dean smiled and looked at Sam for a moment. There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in Sam’s words or face. “Maybe.”

 

“I’m proud of you, Dean,” Laura said. “I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“I’m really proud of both of you for being so honest today. That takes a lot of courage.”

 

Dean leaned over. “See this is the point where she starts trying to wrap it up.” He winked at Laura.

 

She shook her head. “There’s some of that humor.” She smiled. “We do have a few minutes left. Is there anything else either of you would like to discuss before we wrap it up?”

 

Dean shook his head and glanced at Sam. Sam looked at Dean and then back at Laura. “I think we should do more of this.”

 

Dean sat back a bit. Not expecting that. “You’d like to do more group sessions, Sam?”

 

“Yes. I think we have a lot we need to talk about.”

 

Laura looked at Dean, he was staring at Sam. “Dean, what do you think about that?”

 

Dean shook his head and looked at her. “Um...you mean instead of the weekly session?”

 

“No. We would continue our one on one sessions. Maybe you guys could come once a month.”

 

“Once a month?” Dean wasn’t sure he could handle that.

 

“Or every other month.” Now that sounded a little more doable.

 

“Whatever Sam wants to do.”

 

“Dean, this has to be something we both decide to do. I don’t want to force you to do this more than you want to.”

 

“You really want to do this once a month?”

 

“If possible, but like I said, it’s something you have to want to do it too.”

 

“Um….how about every fifth session?”

 

Sam smiled. “Sounds good.”

 

Dean smiled, trying to silence the nerves inside. Maybe they could do this. Maybe they could heal, as corny as that sounded. 

 

They wrapped the session up shortly after and made an appointment in another five weeks. Five weeks. Jesus. This was a part of his life now. It was a part of Sammy’s life now. Yeah, maybe he could be okay with that. Maybe they could all be okay with that. 

 

Five weeks. Thirty-five days. Eight hundred and forty hours. He didn’t even want to think about the seconds. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasn't too clunky. I will revisit more sessions with Sam and Dean later on. I am already planning part four. Thanks again for reading and for all the support I have gotten on here and off of here, for this story. It means the world to me. Art is love. <3
> 
> And yes, soon we will get to read some of Dean's poetry.


End file.
